A glacier rose like an ethereal, glowing rock from the sea where it towered in the nearby distance, seen from the edge of the Ridge. The view it offered was something that a more creative creature might have considered to be magnificent or something to a similar effect. Semet was not that creative sort and thus considered only what kind of hunting it offered. He saw little use for the ridge itself aside from getting a good view of potential herds; he turned from it soon after his fiery red-orange gaze swept over it once more and fixated his attention upon the thriving forest and evergreens in the distance. He shrugged into the foliage, ducking his head to avoid a low hanging evergreen branch before he paused, lowering his head towards the earth to sniff at the dead pine needles and litter that covered the forest floor. The forest would provide shelter against any potential elements heading his way, and, if he was lucky, would offer him some woodland creatures he could hunt to fill his belly when his hunger awoke once more.

To the east he'd caught the scent of a nearby pack, with a slight tint of familiarity to the scent, though he could not immediately place it. He'd been tracking Gavriel's scent — mixed as it was with Vercingetorix and Seregrýn's scents. They had made it this far, at least. If they had found Heda Semet could not say for certain, but first his goal was to catch up with his childhood friend. From there, he could make the next move and decide what happened next. The snap of a twig nearby caused his head to rise, ears to swivel attentive atop his skull, hackles to bristle and his lip to lift ever so slightly in a physical warning as his fiery red-orange eyes scanned the landscape around him, attempting to discern if the sound was a threat or simply a nearby woodland creature.

The sound was given an origin as the agouti, earthen colored male came to fall within Semet's fiery gaze, pupils narrowing as he sniffed at the air, cautious, the sleek muscles beneath his coat pulled taunt as he hindered upon flight or fight. Semet knew that picking a fight with another wolf, one that struck him as large and burly — though there was at least a good ten feet between them so it hard to discern how similar or different their sizes were — was not the wisest of decisions. He was a lone wolf and his strength had a higher purpose, reserved as it was for his hunting and travels. Putting food in his belly and seeking shelters was more important than tussling with strangers and it was this logic that kept him from charging at the other. Yet, he did not seek to flee, either. After all, he'd been here first — or thus Semet assumed but the truth was he had no proof of that.

For a long moment he observed the other, sniffing at the breeze when it picked up between them, tussling the silken tendrils of Semet's fur back along with it, like the gentle caress of a lover's fingers. There was a familiarity to the male's scent, though the male himself was inherently a stranger. He smelled like the pack to the west of Frostfire Ridge...and thought the idea seemed impossible almost like Thuringwethil. He was not sure where his Heda had fled after her destruction of those unloyal to her within Seageda. Semet did not make to close the distance, instead let out “Heda.” in his gruff voice, not used often but effective for inquiring what he could not communicate through body language. Would this beast recognize the title of Thuringwethil? Semet did not know but he knew Heda's scent; and he trusted his intuition above all else.

Fire fueled gaze flickered in the direction at which the stranger gestured, coming to rest upon the towering peak in the distance, his gaze surveying it for a contemplative moment before his gaze fell back upon the other male as he began to speak. He spoke that Heda was the alpha of the mountain he had gestured to seconds before. It was curious but it did not truly surprise Semet. Thuringwethil was Heda; choosen by the spirit of the Commander to lead her people and those that would become her people. That she had started anew here was little more than what Semet would have expected from her. “Drageda,” Semet mimicked in a low, gruff murmur to himself. Yes, that sounded about right. 

A question followed, falling from the other male's lips, causing Semet's charcoal ears to cup forth, attentive. “kom seakru,” Semet explained but then offered in common tongue, “She is my Heda. I am loyal to her.” To her, and to the commander(s) that would surely come after her. This was the way of their people, this was the very foundation of their culture and Semet would not be the one to break it. Always, he was loyal to the Commander; and truly it was as simple as that.

Silence fell over them — the Rauna and the Drageda male — though Semet did not deign to be the first to break it. He had, essentially, gotten the information he had sought. He'd confirmed Thuringwethil's — and by extension the Fos Goufa and Gavriel's — presence established in these Wilds. In silence Semet found comfort. He was a beast of self made isolation: yet it played to his purpose as Seageda's scout. The grounder leeched of what he'd been taught since his birth had made him weak was nothing short of efficient. He had few friends but many enemies. Enemies of Heda were enemies of him. A question was posed, and there was a brief flick of Semet's tail as he assessed Warbone once more. “Soon.” These Wilds were too new to him; and his lack of information about them were nothing short of concerning to Semet. 

He assumed that The Commander would understand that he did not immediately seek her out: for he wanted to be a reliable source for her, as he'd always been. He'd known Thuringwethil since the day she had been born into the world, had been friends with her older brother for longer. They were no strangers, and Semet was who he was, and he would not appear before Heda without getting his bearings on these foreign lands.