Ravensblood Forest ten thousand miles from

He was pulled forward as the voice drifted through the trees – it was fitting, he thought, as the soft dulcet tones shrouded the trees that seemed to bleed. The voice sent a surge of nostalgia through him – the words, while different from what he would have known growing up, still reminded him the way of the bard. The way of the druid. Lasher would have appreciated the moment – the way the frost glistened against the trunks of the trees harmoniously with the song.
 
He weaved his way through them, the voice pulling him closer to the borders. His eyes befell her then – unfamiliar to him still, but he had recognized her scent having lingered within their home for some time now. Perhaps she had seen something to keep her here?
 
He drew forward, his movement a sharp prowl as had become accustom to his own grace. The shadowrunner was not an open book – but as he studied the slim she-wolf, his ears flickered forward as she allowed her words to fade in to the oncoming winter wind. Moving out of the shadows, the regal remained a respectful distance from her, openly regarding her. “Do ghuth,” he murmured, the nostalgia pulling back one of the languages of his father. “It’s been awhile since I have heard a song.” Deirdre's had been the last. His heart ached.