The lean figure sauntered over the fields, cutting through strands of gold, brittle lawn. His breaths were calm, even—head held low towards the ground with his nostrils flaring against the scents that permeated through the field.

The flowery tunnels were of interest, prior—but now, he'd shed the fixation with him with separate priority in mind.

Zanon and Betsy were nowhere to be found—the man could only assume that they'd wandered away from the range. A pity. Ashkii greatly enjoyed their presence. To be alone, as demeaning as it was for Ash to admit, was harrowing. God forbid within the bounds of unfamiliar lands and foreign faces. He took pride in his courage, but now, it felt like it'd disappeared entirely.

Ashkii paused with a deep huff. All he could gather from the scents nearby were the domestic animals who lounged about the land. They'd be easy pickings if need be—but the last thing the sire wanted was to resort to such measures. To maintain the tame prey felt far more efficient.

The sun rose eastwards. Ashkii's pale gaze narrowed with a low groan of annoyance, the peripheral of his gaze blinded by the light. It was too late, now. The sun would be bright soon, and send the photophobe into a darker cove away from the blistering rays.

He pressed into one of the few deserted buildings, claws softly clicking against the stone tile. A deep huff left his nose as he settled onto a pile of hay in the corner. He prayed that, perhaps, when he awoke, he'd be gifted by the gods with an overcast sky.