Emberwood retracing his steps over and over

she trots after him and contented with the affirmation wintersbane turns back to the task at hand ...though retracing his steps is far from hard. his own scent trail is relatively fresh still. she doesn't fill the silence that lapses between them as wintersbane tracks ...well, himself. he doesn't mind. silence has never bothered the tundrian and he doubts it will start any time soon. he's not an inherently anxious creature and doesn't feel the need to fill silence with pointless and meaningless chatter. she introduces himself as sybil which is promptly followed by an apology. for a moment, it perplexes wintersbane whom has briefly forgotten that he offered her his own name.

"you don't have to apologize," the tundrian brushes it off with an errant shrug of his broad shoulders and a lazy flick of an ear. "half the time i don't give my name." he speaks, raspy voice of whiskey steeped in smoke accented with a light chuckle. although, it was often intentional more than it was accidental with him. and wintersbane ...it was more special to him than any other name he'd used or could ever use. more-so than his given name, even. it was a name that lotte had given him herself. unconnected to his gangster father's naming traditions.

his steps slow and come to an eventual halt as the duo make it to the crossroads he'd previously mentioned. underlying his own scent he picks up the scent of the fawn and it's mother and switches directions abruptly, taking a sharp left though his steps are slower as he concentrates on the new scent trail.