Ah, the night was dark and full of terrors and yet, it seemed as if all those terrors had been contained neatly within Iromar; didn't that make things so much easier? If a wolf were to watch the borders long enough, he'd likely see those terrors leave. Then again, perhaps Elohim had shamelessly been thinking from a point of view swathed in privilege. After all, Glorall was likely one of the few packs that had no particular marker over their heads - not for now at least. With that comfort came the awareness that things could change in an instant; his sister had warned him not to find trouble. But that didn't mean that trouble wouldn't come to him first.

So what did he find himself doing? Finding trouble, looking for it, sniffing it out in the free lands for no other reason than he needed something to do in the meantime to cover his tracks. Past tracks, current tracks, even future one's - he'd cover all his bases. In any case, the free lands had become just as much his home as Glorall had ever been; often he returned to his den that he had created near to Ehiyeh but just as often,
he'd linger in the space between home and somewhere else.

He moved through the fields to the west of Diveen, curious as to whether any animosity had begin to fester between the canyons and the moors; in the past, had that not been the root of it all? He wondered where Blackthorne's roots lead to. He pondered simply approaching Iromar but decided against it; he'd heard, or not heard, enough to know it was too much of a risk even for him to approach at such a time. It was better to keep those terrors contained, he thought with a snaggled grin. But there was somebody nearby and that somebody called his name with a desperation he had not heard in seasons.

He flinched for a moment, stopped dead in his tracks as he breathed in her familiarity. She no longer smelt like moors and swamps but she did not smell like fields and flowers either - pine, he thought, like the smell of his younger siblings. Ah, he breathed with the realization. They'd gone to Taviora. He snorted to himself despite his name having been called. Was her childish grudge against his father enough to convince her that he wouldn't keep her safe? She was valuable. His father always kept those things safe. Even that frustration could not keep him away though and he had already begun to move towards her despite the irritation she caused him.

He couldn't even bring himself to berate her. Instead, he was silent when he came upon her and leaned towards her instinctively, an offer of his shoulder be it for comfort or her to berate him for whatever had troubled her. He was sure he'd failed in some way, after all. Shouldn't he have rushed to Iromar the day Blackthorne had arrived? But for now, maybe this would be enough.