Free, again, to roam as I so desired. The leaves have begun to fall like rain, pouring across Taviora's landscape. Winter's fingers have already begun to slide around Moladion's throat, it seems. The mist lingers over the land - for once, Iromar is not this world's freakshow on display. We all exist now beneath the meeting of two seasons... though, I cannot help but wonder who will suffer beneath the final twist of winter's hands come the first snow. I had wasted the heat of summer. I had searched for something I did not find. I had swept through the lands like winter in itself and yet, nothing had satisfied me. I wanted to feel as strong as I was. I wanted to pull apart the heart of a great beast as I had done with Boleyn, or test the limits of some other creature. Nothing had prevailed though. No amount of blood on my teeth or words in my ears had worked. All I wanted was to steal every last part of somebody else and yet, nobody seemed to satisfy it. Anselm would never give me Lihi. I doubted she would even do. She was to be consumed, but I wanted to possess something. I had gone in search of Achlys.
I have always been quiet, a pale shadow moving across the stone like the mists itself. I do not know if she hides within its depths and yet, I cannot help but be lured in by the uncertainty. There is risk and I so desire it as I move down the twisted crevices of stone and moss. Down here, the light can barely reach the depths, the mist a swirling grey mass. I can feel it within me as I breathe it in. Am I alone in such a place? How pleasant a feeling to feel so vulnerable and yet so restricted. My answer comes soon in the sound of a howl, young and yet filled with such a strange tune. Does he mean to lure? To challenge? What an interesting tune. I cannot help but lick my lips, tasting the anticipation within the air as I begin in such a direction. Though this boy is no Achlys, what does it matter? Any will do. All are the same, after all.
The fog is thick and though I cannot see him, I can taste him. He scent lingers in the mist, held down by its swirling mass as I enter the chasm in which his call has been made. I can taste him and feel him, and yet I do not speak. I merely stand still and wait. I want to revel in this uncertainty. I want to feel as prey do; I want to feel something new here. For now, he shall have the control for soon enough, I will be sure to take it back.