I’m still comparing your past to my future
It might be your wound, but they’re my sutures
- Fall Out Boy “Immortals”

Whatever Matianak could find out for him would be beneficial in the weeks to come. He had left with the meeting feeling as if they had come to an understanding. Potentially even an alliance, though that word might be incorrect. It was not as if she would come to his aid nor he her’s. They were partners in crime but only just. As he slipped towards the fields once more days later, he felt a sense of frustration. He had not heard from Nyteshade nor had he come across any of his old pack roaming. Beltane was likely ensconced in Iromar once more and he would no doubt visit her before long, but he wondered at Eve and Gazmala. They had been steadfast – had they, too, fled Molodian for a time, their wanderlust too strong?

Nevermind that, he thinks, for he did not have time to hunt them down. They would either emerge from the shadows or be lost to them. His mind had been distracted as well by Renja. The lovely tiger warrior had parted ways with him after their meeting at the riverside and left him with a craving for her presence. An insatiable need to hunt her down and learn more about her, to dig his own fangs into her and infect her with his venom. Alas, he could not thwart his other focus for a female just yet anyways. It appeared that Nyteshade was either immersed in information gathering or lazing about elsewhere and Blackthorne would be forced to do the next step on his own.

It was an odd feeling – he had always been surrounded by followers. Zharko and Natiya from youth, followed by the rest as he grew older. Now he was alone, starting from scratch again.

The Darkbringer would succeed. He waits pateitnly in the fields, concealed in the tall grasses, head propped on a rock where the fronds did not block his view. Waiting for hours in the sun until it feels as if his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth or his fur would burn to a crisp and fall out. Still he waits. There, a flash of cinnamon and white mixed with a gradient of colors in-between. The girl is young though on her way to maxing out her growth. She radiates gentility. Untested, foolish, with little caution.

That is what Blackthorne sees, though he is perhaps a bit jaded towards children. As she leaves Diveen, he begins to follow her at a distance, his graceful movements much like the panthers to the west of Molodian. Quiet, purposeful, measuring his breathes as they get further away from Diveen. Only when they are far enough away that no border guard might hear does his prowl turn into a shambling walk, making plenty of noise to alert the girl of an approaching wolf. Stalking up to her was too risky. If she sensed him she would bolt, but a stranger who announced their presence likely meant no harm. Not this one, but she didn’t know that.

As he nears her, he widens his eyes in surprise, as if he didn’t realize she was there or smelled her scent trail. ”Ah, sorry,” he says, his voice smooth, friendly. ”You startled me. I didn’t hear you there.” He cocks his head to the side. ”You must be quite stealthy on your feet to walk to silently,” he lies, offering a smile. ”You coming from Diveen?”