It has been too long since the beast has set eye upon his master but he trusts, as any mindless thing must trust, that one day they will reunite.
'Seek out my children,' the boom of the master's voice was still so fresh in his ears despite the months abroad. 'Make sure they are honorable to the Cairn bloodline.' 

He did as he was instructed: the coast reached out before him like a glistening path, hugged closely by the black smudge of mountains and the ever present sea. It had taken a number of months, yet had returned to the wilds. The creature was a hulking mass—a homunculi—and his pace was slow but deliberate, forceful, seemingly equipped with an endless resolve. He did not sleep but merely waited; he did not hunt, but ate what he found, and was unafraid of challengers. Due to this lifestyle of tremendous focus Tetsubō had worn away what precious winter fats had clung to his body and replaced it with muscle, but now even the muscle had begun to wear away. With it went his patience, and some level of control. He crashed his way through forests; he bludgeoned mountain paths so that they would accommodate him; he took more risks for meals when such actions were inadvisable; he'd even taken to prowling the fringes of packlands as he came upon them for something to play with, in a sense. Those unfortunate enough to cross his path were privy to a display of his expertise, and he carved a bloody trail along the coast until he came upon familiar territory.

Even in the thick darkness—beneath a cloudy, starless sky—Tetsubō could recognize this place where he once tread. The brine scent was heavy here, the wind merciless as it continued to sweep the clouds inland; he stood over a large pool of trapped seafoam, glowering and sullen, clearly having little patience—it was as if he decided to rest by merely standing in gargoyle fashion upon the beach, and here he would sit and wait for daybreak. He wondered if this was his intended target—if those of the Cairn bloodline resided here, or nearby—and then he wondered, rather spontaneously, if he would follow through with his master's command after all. He had developed a need for bloodshed that was deeper than his usual desire for violence, for use, and as he stood glaring across the pool at his dark reflection, he wondered if he would contain himself this time.

He was not meant to harm the children—Skellige wished for the opposite, and he knew his lord's word was law.
​

To be alone was a struggle for most wolves that were not assigned to a pack, it was dangerous. For him it was dangerous for others when he was around, and without his master to give him a more direct plan of attack (or leniency) the beast was left to his own devices—this was most likely, the reason why so many had fallen to his dark urges. To be alone was safe. To be alone meant he could attempt some reflection. What would Skellige do?

But he was not alone for long. The swarthy woman's approach was charaterized by weakness, and that alone drew his attention from the pool. He watched her in silence, listened as she spoke to him, but did not comment even after she bade him to. Beneath the scent of the sea was the scent of Cairn upon her—and this had Tetsubo transfixed. The slightest motion of his head was all that she gained from her posturing, until he lurched towards her, closing the distance between them without so much as a flicker of warning. He did not rake his teeth through her flesh as his desire called, though. He lunged with his snout, and began to investigate her scent more thoroughly (whether she was comfortable or not); the metallic scent of blood was there, enticing him, but so too were the wolf-scents.

And there, Cairn. He drew back once this was confirmed.
​

The female tensed and showed a flash of teeth but he was a man who knew no fear, and so he barely reacted to the defensive response. Had he been a thoughtful sort of creature rather than a machine molded from trauma, perhaps he would have been intrigued by her resolve. She did not strike him or cower, which made her stronger than many of the wolves he had encountered merely for that fact. However, such a thought would never slide through his one track mind.

He had withdrawn from her, heard the question—and this one he answers directly, stern and almost frustrated in his tone. He was meant for more than this, after all. The Cairn, he lowly bellows, breathing the words as if they are composed of thick smoke between his teeth, Where is it?
​

Her answer wasn't enough.

He sucked in a breath as if he were to explain, but did not. Instead he stepped back and stood there, silent, watching, expecting something else from her; those eyes bore in to her with a dulled expression, as if the magic that enlivened the machinations of his body had suddenly departed. He did finally speak, and it was insistent: You are a servant to the Cairn—I am here for it, by order of Skellige.

It was all he would say as explanation, and then suddenly he was moving again—towards her, around her, glancing at the earth and following the tread of her steps across the sand. If she followed he would not be attentive. If she harassed him, Tetsubo knew how to dispose of such an obstacle. A part of him wished she would do something merely for the thrill; he yearned to spill blood this day, and she was ripe with it. But such a kill was hardly noble. To take life from a weakened creature may have satiated some part of his need, but it would not have been enough. Better, then, to save his energy.

The scent of Cairn flowed across the beachfront—he would follow it, and find his target without the aid of the woman.
​

This time the response was immediate and so was his retaliation. She ran alongside his imposing form and dove in with snapping teeth, but with little response until the teeth grazed his flesh; he felt the sting and was ignited into motion. What transpired was swift and merciless:

A turn of his body to expertly sever her path.

The bludgeon of his neck and skull against her already weak body, connecting with her chest.

Footwork—and then the grapple of his teeth upon her, the snap of his bear-trap jaws without so much as a grunt of effort.

Any further aggression faded as soon as he held her, but with the pressure of his weight he leveraged her against the sand —it was a fluid transition between his hunt along the sandbar and his reaction to her efforts.

Now, holding her roughly in place, she had one chance to reconsider her approach, or he would crush the bones between his teeth and savor her taste without further consideration.
​

He was not aware of the extra body coming to the aid of the woman until it was racing about, and it's teeth snapped at him in an effort to distract or dissuade. The beast had no intention of ending the life of anyone on that beach without probable cause (as unlikely as that seemed from the current state of things); yet with each snap of teeth upon his scruff or bludgeon of the pale body against Tetsubo's own, he tightened his grip little by little. He knew how to play this situation to his own advantage.

This stranger had arrived to defend the woman. If the woman was important, then cutting off her air was detrimental to both her wellfare and the stranger's pursuits. 

A low rumble emanated from the back of his throat though — a frustrated warning — but he did not move from his position above the woman. The beast could take the blows for as long as necessary; he had gone from being an unstoppable force in retaliation to the wolf pinned to the sand, and become an immovable object in the next few moments, biding his time for when the assault would cease. If it did not, then the woman's death could be blamed upon this new arrival upon the beach.

Except that, as the stranger attempted to intercept, behind the scent of the woman's blood Tetsubo thought he could discern the saline notes of Cairn again. This gave him a moment of indecision that felt like it lasted years. The beast was not accustomed to this sensation. There was no way to confirm the scent without extricating himself from this situation and a part of him was loath to do so, hungry as it was for bloodshed. 

In the end, the interloper won. Tetsubo released his grip on the woman and drew back, the gutteral sound of his warning finally taking shape without the body to block his voice. He turns sharply to regard the defensive creature but sees no resemblance to his master, save for that lingering scent. Was this who he had been seeking the past months?

Where is the Cairn? He bellowed as he took a lurching few steps towards Nox. You will take me to it, or I will destroy you and bring glory to my master. His teeth set in a grimace then, and he fixed his citrine gaze upon the wolf as they shifted across the sand, eager to see what choice would be made.
​

The white wolf was a buzzing gnat in the face of an already agitated monster; the beast swung his head away from the abandoned body of the woman and caught his assailant's bites with parries of his own teeth, but he did not target them or cause further damage than what was necessary. The battle was short—Tetsubo had stepped away from the slumbering body upon the sand as he had defended himself, and now turned to regard the oncoming pale flash that came to intercept. Another challenger? His purpose had been outlined to both previous wolves, and his patience was nearing a limit.

But this newcomer was, shockingly, familiar. The voice tore across the sand and upon hearing it, Tetsubo's actions lurched and lulled, and he pivoted to regard Smokestep as if no harm had been done, like nothing had ever happened. When Nox spoke there wasn't even a tremble of an ear to indicate Tetsubo heard them. He had found his Cairn, and so he could move on.

The master sends me to you, Cairn, so I may serve. He states this factually, mechanically, as if it is the most obvious of things—and truly there is no reason for Tetsubo to leave his master's side for any reason except for a direct order. He elucidates a moment later with a bow to his massive head, I am to be bushido to you, as is ordered. He resumed his hulking posture after that point and fixed his dulled gaze upon the boy expectantly. There was no room for compromise.
​

There was silence, and then questions. Tetsubo paid the others little heed as the Cairne came to an understanding, and then when he voiced his own queries the gargoyle deigned to answer; he took a laborious breath and uttered a simple explanation: I went on ahead. I do not know where the elder Cairne is. That was a satisfactory explanation to the warrior — but he watched the pale pirate for any reason to correct himself or give further information. It did not seem pertinent to mention that Skellige had his own plans, for it was not the bushido's place to divulge such things or make assumptions. 
​