"Lead the way, then."

And lead he did.

Time passed—though how much, he couldn't be certain. The world had blurred into shifting shapes and soupy haze, inky darkness pooling at his broad, black paws as the sun bled its last light beyond the distant peaks. His breaths left him in uneven rhythms, curling against the thickening dusk. He would have preferred to collapse here, to let his aching limbs fold beneath him and allow the cold to swallow him whole, but the steady presence at his side kept him upright.

Faeline.

She was oddly comforting, though she would loathe to hear it. Not in a tangible, physical way, but in the way a long-lost presence warms the bones of memory—the first glimpse of a loved one after countless winters apart, the quiet exhale of a newborn’s first breath, the reverence of a touch meant only for you. She had been a constant before all of this. A trusted presence, if nothing else. His children adored her. His wife, on the other hand...

The sharp tang of spruce cut through his thoughts. Then pine. Then birch. The scents flooded his lungs in a sudden, vivid rush, and his gaze flickered, sharpening as it traced the darkened silhouettes of the evergreens ahead. Even in the deepening twilight, the thick trunks stood resolute, lining the forest’s edge with a stillness rivaled only by stone.

"Well, we made it,"

His voice was weary, rougher than he intended; low, and edged with the remnants of exhaustion. Still, he cast Faeline a glance, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that might have passed for a smile if one were blind. Yet, it was genuine. If only faintly. He pushed forward, though his attention strayed, drawn to the gnarled bark as he passed.

As his gaze swept over the trunks, he noted their unbroken surfaces—none bore the deep, deliberate claw marks he had come to expect. Back home, the outskirts of every forest bore a unique symbol—a declaration of ownership, or a warning to outsiders, depending on one's perspective. But here, the bark stood untouched, unclaimed.

"None of them bear the territory markers of Varathen, that's for certain. Are we in neutral territory, you think?"

------
note: Varathen is the closest neighboring territory of Rhydian's pack. Their symbol is an upside-down "V"

Skill: N/A

---

She followed behind Rhydian. In silence, her stern gaze cast over the foreign scenery with pursed lips. The snow stretched beyond her vision to the northwest, yet as they walked east, it grew sparser—presumably protection from the canopy, where the forest sprung forth. Faeline hardly bothered to inspect details of the earth that unraveled at her feet—but even she could see that this was different.

'None of them bear the territory markers of Varathen, that's for certain.' She was torn out of her thoughts, her brows raising slightly as she turned to look at the sire. Mh, she hummed, casting her own silvered gaze over the tree's bark, seeing the untouched skin of the trees' daunting forms. 'Are we in neutral territory, you think?' The smell of wolves had long ebbed away. Faeline coiled her tail over her hips. I think, perhaps. She remarked softly. The trees here were different. Their trunks were broader, and... even with eyes squinted, Faeline was unsure if they were of the same species.

Slender body weaved between trees like a gust of wind. She slipped into the forest, ears held forward with a vigilant smolder. I think... she trailed off for a moment—she thought a lot of things. She thought this was all fucking insane. Why did they get transported into some strange world like this? Why was she back here again? Her lips thinned. ...I think we aren't where we were before, Rhydian, she began, I think we won't find Varathen here. Nor anywhere. Her words were left cryptic, lest she said something that would force his panic into a worsened state.

Against the gnarling roots of a tree, she placed her haunches upon the frozen soil and placed her tail upon her front paws. We should rest, correction, he should rest. Faeline felt no fatigue, rather, the opposite—she wanted to survey every corner of this odd planet they'd found themselves in. But she could see in the man's wearied gaze that such a notion was unthinkable. For the time being, Faeline would sedate her wanderlust—it could be aroused later, when it was more appropriate.

You look exhausted, dear, she sighed, come here, let me take care of your coat. Matted and ensnared with bits and pieces of foliage, the sight bothered Faeline to no end. Just like Finn, he was, uncaring of the unkempt state of his coat, far too occupied with separate trivialities.

She leaned her head forward and gingerly tugged away the twigs and burrs from his tresses, lapping her tongue over spikes of unruly fur to smooth his pelt down.

"...I think we aren't where we were before, Rhydian... I think we won't find Varathen here. Nor anywhere."

Something inside him twisted, a pain unnoticed until now—sharp, writhing, as though a murder of ravens clawed at his ribs. His breath hitched. Crimson eyes, slick with worry, sought hers, but his vision wavered, blurring at the edges.

'We should rest'

"I don't need to rest," The words left him harsh, unbidden. They tasted foreign and bitter. Her sigh followed, gentle yet insistent.

'You look exhausted, dear, come here, let me take care of your coat.'

The warmth of her pliant tongue came unexpectedly, though it wasn't unwelcome. Rhydian's eyes closed steadfastly, swallowing his intransigence. His eyes shut against the instinct to pull away, swallowing his resistance. He wanted to argue, to insist he couldn’t stop, not now, not while his children were lost to the unknown.

But gods, it had been so long since he had felt something soft. The air was still, save for the hush of her breath and the distant howl of the storm winding through unfamiliar trees. The cold clung to his bones, but here, in this fleeting moment, there was warmth. He barely noticed when she tugged a twig from his shoulders, nor the way his body leaned into her touch—until he forced himself to move, pressing her away with a gentle forearm.

"Faeline, we've arrived in this... strange land, and your first thought is to rest?"

His sigh was deep, the furrow of his brow etched deep enough to leave shadows of wrinkles across his forehead. The weight of exhaustion dragged at him, but still, he resisted. Still, he held firm.

And yet… what good was searching in a storm?

"Fine. We can rest. But only until the storm clears," His voice was quieter now, though no less determined. He exhaled, slow and measured, before murmuring, "Then we look for Morriva and Aedric. Or… at least someone who can tell us where the hell we are."

Skill: N/A

---

As Rhydian spoke of his undesire for repose, Faeline's eyes swept upwards and she let out a low scoff. There was an avid refusal to respond to his statement shown by the stiff scowl that was etched on her face.

'Fine. We can rest. But only until the storm clears.' Very kind of you. She remarked, teeth gently rasping over the unruly tangle of his pelt. 'Then we look for Morriva and Aedric. Or... at least someone who can tell us where the hell we are.' There was a small hum of acknowledgment, yet it was clear her focus was on him, not the children.

In her eyes, it'd be far better to rest against the trees and recover their energy than to seek out the two whilst exhausted and hobbling through a storm. On top of that, perhaps it was more known to her than it was to the father himself that his two children were capable, capable enough to survive on their own—that was truly the reason why Faeline harbored enough hope to be comfortable with such idleness.

They would find them, someday. But that 'someday' wouldn't come if the pair was too debilitated to properly move.

She raised her head. I think it'd do us good to find someone who knows the area, she remarked, it'd be better than wandering around blindly. Faeline eventually lifted her muzzle from Rhydian's broad withers, instead reclining against a tree and resting her chin on her forelimbs.

We'll look in the morning. She rasped. Silver eyes were already fixing to fall shut.