It'd been a few weeks since he attacked that woman unprompted. A bitter film over his tongue kept the coppery flavor of her blood in his mouth, a testament to simply how aware he was when it'd happened. Too aware. He remembered everything—how she scrambled, fought back, squirmed beneath the weight of his frame. The sire released a low huff, ambling over gnarling roots of trees that towered overhead.

Ashkii'd already explored east, weeks prior, where he'd unintentionally met with Caius. Last he'd seen of the west was Daanfre—where had that pretty little spirit gone? Pensive eyes narrowed as he aimlessly trekked eastward, where the sun began to rise from the horizon, jagged with distant mountains.

He hadn't gone much further west than the Giant's throne—in truth, he hadn't gone very far from Ambrosia Range at all. There was no point; he had everything he needed. Food. Shelter.

The security of it was gone.

Again, the metallic flavor, mixed with something floral, flower petals. Ashkii halted. That woman had disappeared after that night—where had she gone? He owed one hell of an apology. Lips curled with self-disgust. He continued onwards. He could return to the range once he finally made amends with his own turmoil. That woman was gone. Dead or not, he didn't know. But it would be a blessing to both of them if he never saw her again.

There was a soft rustle by a boulder. White blooming along the rock's edge, akin to snow, yet they were flowers. And among them, a wolf. He halted a safe distance away, tail loosely resting against his lean hocks.

He would not approach, he would not speak. Simply stand. She could react first—with hostility or with sociability. That remained to be seen.