The witching hour came and went. Her stride was long and sure. Thus yet, there were no signs of the wretch who had abandoned the Spine... but she was a woman who was nothing if not thorough. The Spine she would return to. This investigation was necessary, but she never drew too terribly far from the Spine. Far enough, however, where any wolf that breathed near her would survive it.
In the cover of darkness, she was barely perceptible. The woman was a dark, jet black with nothing else to her except for the earthen brown her eyes carried. Not even this brought warmth to her cold, sharp features. Her shoulders rolled as the woman weaved through the forest, no sign of the once-leader to be noted. There was no doubt by now that if the woman who had abandoned the lands had returned, she would know the lands were no longer her own. Birthright did not make a land your own, nor did succession into power. Tonravik had taken that land, had made her presence known, and none stopped her. Whatever reason the other left it mattered not, just that she had. And Tonravik was there to stay.
Convinced that only under the hushed lull of night Jaguara could draw her power, she lurked among the foreign trees of the forest. Her prowling had concluded as the she-wolf came to a standstill, stiff and listening. Alert not only to the life that thrummed in the vegetation around her, but open to receiving from the spirits of the forest themselves. But there was nothing. No acknowledgement crooned against her lifted ears, no chill draped down her spine. Despite her efforts she was still too stapled to this physical world. Perhaps for a good reason this time.
Hypersensitive Jaguara took note of something large drifting its way towards her location, difficult to perceive with her eyes but notable from the light rustle of bush underfoot. Staying her ground the wolf came into view, just barely, but being one herself she was able to pluck out the beastly shadow from the other silhouettes of the woods. There was a stark difference in the other’s approach, this stranger was not simply wandering—she was hunting. Wary, the loner took a step back her skull lowering to sulk between her shoulders with anticipation.
Tonravik moved with intent, still. She was not so streamlined as her subordinate, Echelon, but she cut through the warm air with an ease to be envied. Another scent caught her attention, and Tonravik searched for a shadow that did not appear. Whoever it was did not want to be found. Having no true desire to hunt for one extra wolf, Tonravik simply stilled and sniffed at the air nearby, hoping for answers there.
But the wind offered her nothing yet, and disappointed, Tonravik went on the move again. She snuffled through, her nose pushing open a shrub to reveal nothing in it. That wolf whose scent had grown stale... she would not be found here. Not today. Not in this immediate area. Tonravik swung her head, blinking as she observed her immediate surroundings.
Slowing the pace of her breathing Jaguara counted through a few moments after the dark spirit had trudged out of sight and was only distantly detected. Hm. She contemplated leaving it be and making her retreat while she could, but the forest was not so far from the Moonspear that she could not leave fully relieved. Pacing in place for a minute she slunk forward after the sleuth who moved with grace beyond her size, while Jaguara placed little effort in her casual trot that barely stirred the stems of the leaves she cleared from her path.
It took some tracking to find the beast again, but nonetheless the witch eventually spotted her from an upward slope to observe the sizable wolf in her hunt. She was a cautious little thing, but far from a coward. With controlled steps she hovered in the distance, and eventually wound around the slope and downwards testing the space between them. “Are you looking for something?” She questioned, announcing her presence in a light tone that sliced through the neutral tranquility of the forest.
She would have to move on. Or, change her path. But Tonravik had studied these woods and searched in them a variety of other times. The thought that the leader of the Spine might not return at all had never occurred to the leader. To Tonravik, it was only a matter of time. Her lip curled upward in contempt for the woman who had left her pack, and she snorted. Tonravik would search for the wretch no longer. She would let the runaway, the coward, come to her.
The sound of shivering leaves drew her attention, and Tonravik drew in a heavy amount of air. Not pack. Not the woman she sought. Her eyes turned and she saw a wolf equally as dark as she, and a perked ear twitched as the others lilting tone met her ears. "No," and that was the truth. Presently, she wasn't. Minutes ago, she had been. But her search had ended.