The consistent flooding across the land had ensured that the dark creature retained his sanctuary well away from others. Treacherous conditions followed the relentless weather as water filled deep caverns in the crags and the grotto, and the river remained swollen and tumultuous. It meant that the lands of Moladian were relatively quiet, and for the past four years Eros had gained some of the healing and the reprieve that his fractured mind had needed. However, as much good as the time had done him, there were impasses that he could not traverse on his own. His solitude had given him ample time in getting to know himself as never he had before, only he had minimal contact with those of his own kind. The first and last wolf he had spoken to had been Ren by the river, and though the words still haunted him in a way that Sore never had, his ability to communicate had all but rusted and withered away. If ever he saw another from afar, he had no words to offer and too much anxiety to deal with, and so large pitch paws always took him the other way. He was not a wolf of many words these days, though perhaps they were still there with him, only buried deep beneath it all. Eros had never had a reason to look for them, though perhaps this day would change that for him.

It couldn’t be said at first what awoke him from his nap as he lay near the waterfall that spilled into the grotto. Perhaps it was some hand of fate, perhaps it was the shift of wind as storm clouds brewed overhead. Whatever it was slipped past him and out of mind as he slowly blinked his glacial blue eyes. His rest had been brief, and he did not feel entirely rested but here he was awake nonetheless. It would seem his rest eluded him as well as it would not return, and so his large and scarred paws are moving to ease the sleep from his bones. Hot blood moving through his veins would wake him up soon enough, for it was easy to fall into a trance in this place. There are no sounds of the forest here, or the sea, or other animals. They cannot be heard, not with the drain that the grotto has created. The immense force of nature creates a powerful roar as well as vibrations that can be felt through the stone. He finds it a peaceful place, full of a white noise that does not remind him of other places and other memories. Eros has made this place his own because it soothed him, and while here the last several years of solitude have put him on the path that he wants to be on. Wherever that might take him. 

Today, the path takes him away from the grotto and place of rest and toward the crags, further inland than otherwise. The sandy shores of Glorall still call out to part of him, and yet he knows with all that has happened to Moladian over the years that there must be a sandy shore no longer. Much as he, his once-home had most likey been swallowed up by the world, unrecognizable to those that would have been familiar. Even the curiosities of what-once-was and what-could-have-been are not enough of a pull to draw him to that place. Nor the feel of familial ties, for much like most social cues or communication, those lessons were never gifted to him as they had been meant to. Perhaps it was an accumulation of all these little things, or one thing, or no thing at all that lead him to fall upon the path of another wolf. He cannot see her, and all he gathers from her is that she is a lot younger than him. Abruptly does he lose her scent, only to pick it up on a ledge further along. With his muscles now awake and warmed up after his restless rest, part of him is glad for a reason to move more and follow this stranger up the ledge. Of all the wolves to approach on any day, Eros does not know why his paws follow this particular one. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to say when he finds them and then all at once- she’s there. And he’s staring. This wolf is a complete stranger to him, nothing about her is familiar.

He stares because she is the first wolf he has seen up close in many years. She is small, charcoal, and grey and appears as young as he had suspected. It would never occur to him that being young and alone was any kind of unusual among wolves. From his experience, it seemed natural to be on ones own at any given time, for the company of other wolves was close to an absurd idea. And yet here he was following this stranger, a moment of panic threatening to seize him in the clutches of anxiety but silent self reassurances soothe his nerves. Ever struggling with his internal battles, the silence keeps between the strangers even as he falls in step and follows behind her. He keeps a generous distance between them, but since the moment glacial eyes saw her he doesn’t hide his pursuit. Even when he first caught her path he hadn’t made attempts to conceal himself. Something unknown pulls his paws along this day, and Eros is almost too weary of it all to the point of turning away. Almost.