Blood. Why is it always blood that is the first thing that one smells? And why, I must know, is it so often entwined with the scent of my own children? But it is not Ehiyeh, no daughter, but Asriel this time who comes baring the metallic bite of blood. It seems I have instinctively moved towards it long before my own mind has been able to truly register the circumstances surrounding it - he comes alone and the blood is neither entirely fresh or old and decayed. Whose blood is it? The thought makes my ear flick, my brows furrow, hackles twitch. Was the call of challenge from Iromar more than just a challenge for the swamps? Had Asriel found himself in the midst of it? Ah, I do doubt that. Asriel is quiet, reserved, secretive.

And he is soaked in crimson, stained with tears.

I see him finally as I pause along the path; I can see the red on his dark fur but I see no wound, smell no meat. Just blood. I see no others either - just him. My head tilts and I finally begin to move towards him after several moments of observation, unsure as to what kind of situation I have walked into. But it is Asriel, my son, and perhaps a son I feel most kindred towards and so I am driven to believe he has come to find me to answer that very question. "Asriel," I say his name firmly, commanding his attention lest it drift away and back to whatever event transpired before his arrival. "Are you injured?" Because for now, that is my concern. I can do it again if he is. Samhain had been easy enough, I have no doubt any attacker of his would be just as easy.