The morning was humid but there was a relieving cool breeze that wound around the charcoal and varied gray tendrils of fur at his chest and along the length of his spine as he rose from his temporary shelter — a felled, rotted log — shuffling out of the tight space and giving his coat a shake to free it from pieces of softened wood and bits of moss that he had disturbed with his presence. A hollowed, half rotted log was no den that was for sure, but it worked in a pinch. There were some nights when Semet did not entertain the thought of having his back exposed to the elements ...and to others. He had spent a portion of his morning hunting down a plump fox and it was only after he'd eaten that he left the general area he'd spent the night and made his way towards the winding stream he'd spent a small measure of time investigating from a safe distance the day previous.

His steps slowed to a cease as he approached it's bank, shrugging past the white birches and aspens that acted as a sort of fortress around it, offering shade against the warmth of the sun as it shone down upon the earth uninterrupted. Semet's muzzle lowered to the bank to sniff a few times at the water before he inched closer to the water's edge and lapped a few times at the cold water, before he drew back, salmon pink tongue drifting across his lips and chin to lick off the droplets of water that had collected on the short hairs there. It was crisp and movement within it's depths told him it was populated with fish of some kind — though he could not determine specifics. He licked his chops once more before he bent his head back down towards the water and resumed his intent to sate his thirst.

Semet was content to lap at the water, only lifting his muzzle to lick his chops again and take a deep breath, giving his stomach a break so that he did not drink himself sick. It would be unfortunate to regurgitate what he'd just eaten. It was as he was cleaning his chops, licking the droplets of the cold water from his chin that he noticed her. Though the white birch trees did a good job of camouflaging her — an advantage that he distinctly did not have — there was no mistaking her presence as his fiery gaze noted how she adjusted her position. The snap of her jaws together was a clear warning — one that Semet understood and acknowledged as his ears slicked back flat against his skull. His posture lowered, his eyes lingering on her swollen sides for a moment a deeper understanding resounding within the warrior's mind.

“I only wanted a drink,” He expressed humbly, breaking his usual silence, his voice deep and gruff as he spoke across the distance to her, not so sure that she would care about what he wanted. “I mean no trouble.” He promised, keeping his posture low and submissive. This was the kind of dominance he recognized — clear and rigid. In that instance he was reminded of Heda though there was no physical similarities between them. Perhaps this woman, too, was an Heda in her own right — such would not surprise Semet. He took a few steps back from the water, though he had been hoping to sneak in a bath before he departed but if she pushed him to leave, Semet would not challenge her.

Semet did not take offense to her weariness, to her territorial behavior; habitually for the simplicity that she was doing what all wolves were meant to: protect what was hers. She was pregnant, at that, and the Seakru warrior, instinctual as he was, had a deep seeded and archaic acceptance and understanding that her maternal instincts were at a paramount. He was lucky that she had not given chase to him ...or called her wolves to do it. His words were true though: he meant no harm or trouble to her and her's. An uneasy sort of truce was established between them: “grounder” and Teekru woman. She allowed him his drink, and with a chuff of gratitude he lowered his muzzle once more to the cool water's the stream offered and his salmon pink tongue lapped at it, his drinking paused only when she informed him of a river north of their current position.

Semet's head rose, his fiery gaze studying her in quietude as she spoke, what he perceived (though he couldn't be sure) as an afterthought, that he should stay clear of the territory north of it. It was curious that she offered this warning freely for, by all rights, she did not have to advice him of other packs in the region. His well being meant nothing to her. However, her words did not strike him as a surprise given his conversation with one of Heda's wolves. “Drageda,” Semet spoke in acknowledgment giving a grim nod. “The Sleeping Dragon.” He offered in common tongue. “I have met one of their's on the Glacier,” Semet informed her, exchanging his own information as gratitude for her own. It had been some time since the scout had spoken so many words.

Semet was not aware of the standing between the two packs but saw no reason to withhold what little he'd been able to extract from the Seageda male he'd met. After all, she had given him information she could have so very easily withheld but did not — thus he offered her what little he knew in exchange though it was likely nothing she did not already know herself.

The woman offered her opinion, what she had observed of Sleeping Dragon ...of his Heda with an honesty that Semet found startling. The scout was silent, contemplative as he listened to her venting, noting the subtle hints of frustration within her tone. Though she spoke against The Commander — of whom Semet had known a very long time and was loyal to — he did not speak up in her defense; mostly because Thuringwethil did not need him to defend her. This issue was between them — the leaders and did not involve the Scout. He was not The Commander, nor her Second and thus politics were not something he deigned to involve himself in. 

Semet did not expect anything less from Heda, though, he conceded mentally as he processed Saena's statement. He did not agree with such abrupt hostilities but it was their way. How it had always been; and how it would always be. “Such hostility isn't right,” The grounder rumbled in a contemplative murmur; though his tone was loud enough for Saena to hear. “so long as it is not directly on their borders or within their claimed lands.” Yet, from the way the pregnant woman spoke, it didn't sound as if that was the case. He was all for following one's instincts but co-existing had to begin somewhere because they would never be the only pack. There would always be others ...and perhaps a time when they would need aid of packs outside their own. He saw this as a consideration not because he cared either way but because it was some semblance of self-preservation; or at least this was what he told himself.