He felt it was time to stretch his legs a bit, away from Hoshor Plains and the drama that had engulfed it recently. Notable, important drama...but drama all the same. He sneered at the memory of the pack meeting, and the Khal's young daughter's outburst. She was his only one, at the moment, and he had failed to keep her in line. What would he do when — or if — he and the woman he had chosen as his Khaleesi had a litter? Of course, Rhanno's parenting skills were nothing to boast about (he pushed all thoughts of his traitorous son, Tihollo, from his mind), but he knew he wouldn't hesitate to put an insufferable child back in their place.
His features crinkled again in his quintessential scowl, ears swivelling forward as he looked up to the barren canopy above him. It was too quiet here. Too cold. He was a Dotharan, meant for arid plains and at ease with the sun beating down on his back. This forest was the complete opposite of that. It seemed frozen in time almost — apparently from a time before life itself emerged. The soft crunch of dry leaves underfoot ceased as the man paused in his wandering, ear half-cocked as he strained to hear for something, anything, that lived within the woods.
The bison led Lavakho south to the fringes of the plains and away from the rest of the Khalasar. Keeping tabs on the traveling herds had become his primary duty, (other than protecting the Khal, of course.) Their movement had been strange, and Lavakho found it odd that the Rhoa had led him so far through the territory to cluster and bunch where the plains met forest, like an invisible force had pushed them into a barrier. It would certainly be important information to bring back to brother, even though he had no idea what their movements could possibly mean. Perhaps Vitihi would know; omens were more her thing anyway.
He watched in silence as more piled in against the tree-line. Curious indeed. Nevertheless, no matter how long he watched, nothing changed but the number of bison. A small band had grown into a herd of around twenty strong. Too many to piss off. Lavakho peeled away and slunk underneath the cover of forest canopy and the scent of one of their own stole his attention away from the herd's odd behavior. Rhanno? He traveled in it's direction through brush and bramble as silently as a man of his stature could, but his heavy footfalls would likely give him away due to the sound of the snapping twig beneath one of his forepaws.
She followed him stealthily.
She had her reasons, she always did.
He was old, and his bones... they would be a lovely addition to her set—
How much had he seen? How much did he know? What lessons had he learned? Where would his bones point? So many dangers, so many years...
The heavy footfall of another stranger gave the narrow, whippish girl pause. Her narrow snout and her oversized ears fell backward as she narrowed her eyes, sniffing... and seeing. In the shadows she hid, and their attentions were elsewhere. But this man, this other man, the one not old... his presence was unwelcome here.
She looked to the elder, and as she raced off, she hummed her spell: "Not all things live, but all things must die — young or old, in your grave you will lie — and He who has aged will find She who must survive — Find me, He will find me, in three days time — or a sickness will befall Him, and all that see his eyes."
His tufted, torn ears swivelled as he listened, his frown deepening as he was only met with silence. Of course, he blamed the forest itself for not providing any noise. His hearing was in perfect condition. No way had age taken it's toll on...
...wait, what was that? Rhanno shot up straight as a twig snapped somewhere, a usually soft sound that became a thunderous noise in the deafening quiet of these woods. His nose twitched, muscles tense and ready to spring into action should he need to run. The elder wasn't an easy sort to scare, but this forest unnerved him, and he wasn't keen on sticking around to see what lurked within.
A scent came to him, foreign and young and female. What would usually cause him to smile instead sent a shiver down his spine for some reason, and the Dotharan suddenly was fed up with this stupid woodland. He turned, paws whipping up the slight fog that had settled upon the ground as he made to go back the way he came before a large, pale figure entered his peripheral vision. Without meaning to, the elder gave a startled yell, a shaky, feeble sound that betrayed his age. He quickly replaced it with a snarl and, hackles bristling, started towards the ghostly form before the unmistakeable scent hit him. "Lavakho!" he exclaimed, almost if the boy's name was a swear, followed quickly by, "ki fin yeni!"