Arturio had done what he could to comfort Wraith and so, Wraith had done what he had always done and he had buried those thoughts and feelings deep within the caverns of his mind. Wherever they had gone, his paws had decided to follow. It was uncommon for him to leave any place he named as home but...his mind roamed. He had not seen Grimoire in seasons; he had been around the ghosts of his family too long; too much, not enough. It was enough to send him walking.

He had roamed for some day or so without much rest; he had moved through the forests and fields and towards Iromar, curious to the strangers his leader had declared their enemy. Wraith felt nothing towards Iromar or its new inhabitants though he was curious as to what had happened to relatives he did have there - he wondered if Vainglory or Istas had returned to their birthplace. Was he the only one left? With a sigh, he had turnd away and moved with no direction. He drifted, ebbed and flowed like the river and only paused when he caught a glimpse of another wolf on the banks ahead of him. It was not her giggling nor the way she seemed to entertained by nothing that caught him off guard but rather her very presence itself; she was simply there, as if she hoped to be found out. Wraith never had such confidence. He was as his namesake - a spectre.

But curiosity had a mind of its own and he found himself drifting ever closer to her; he moved as he always did, slow and dreary, as he carried a weight upon his shoulders that begged to send him through the earth and into nothingness. He had been born to look eternally as a corpse - too long legs, all ribs and little muscle with dirty, knotted white fur that seemed to grow wildly in every direction. His eyes were glazed over, his pupil concealed behind a haze of white. He had come to ignore his own appearance but as for strangers? Ah, he was always concerned with them being uncomforable. He wore his skin like a burden and he despised the idea of another wearing it too. As for her? Never had it occurred to him that she might be in just the right place to believe him a ghost or the dead returned. He had never encountered a wolf besides Phaedra who had taken it upon themselves to poison themselves with mushrooms.

So when he approached and she simply giggled, he came to pause. He was but several feet from her then, a swaying spectre in the spring sun as he watched her with a tilted head. He did not speak but he did not hide himself either; instead, he attempted to process the stranger in front of him. She was...unusual. Why had his paws brought him here of all places?