In good time the group reached the forest, and it was here they chose to rest once more. While the Nereides were creatures of the sea - and he too, in part, connected to it as well - Atlas felt quite at ease beneath the boughs. It was a reminder of his origins. Even though they were difficult to recall, aspects of the forest were bringing vague memories back to him.

The scent of the trees, for one. A lack of salt in the air. The trembling leaves, with hues that were just beginning to shift.

He inhaled a deliberately slow breath, and set out: the women would be hungry, and while they often detested dining on foreign meat, he would have to find something to satiate their hunger. It was his duty, and that outshone any sentimentality that Atlas may have felt.

But he was curious of this forest. There were not very many wolfish smells, at least nothing fresh enough to hint at a collective within the shadows. If he was the one in control of their travels - but no, Atlas refused to let that thought fester beyond the barest beginnings of fantasy. Because I am not in control.

And really, he was fine with that.

The interest he held in the forest would have to be put in the back of his mind. He had a job to do, and little time to do it - or so he often told himself, in order to avoid making the women wait too long. Atlas could smell various things, but as his nose was attuned to the brine of the ocean and its inhabitants, he was at a loss for where to go.

The musk of fox was prevalent in some areas; the scurrying of mice could be heard in others as they parted like a tide in the underbrush; a faraway squirrel chirped a warning to the passing wolf, as if by will alone it could keep its youngsters safe. Atlas moseyed, but he did it with a purpose. Every snapping branch or shift of the wind had him alert and looking for another path.

But he did not see a target to hunt. Instead, his two-toned eyes caught sight of an earthen wolf wandering on their own. He was hesitant to approach at first, but eventually his path mingled with that of the stranger's; when close enough, Atlas noticed the manner in which they walked, the feminine scent, and then saw the flash of blue held in the woman's gaze; he was instantly at ease.

Γεια σας εκεί! He called out - using the tongue that came naturally to him, with the assumption that all women would understand it. This was a lesson he ought to learn sooner than later: the entire purpose of the Nereides being in this area of the wilds was to redirect the heathens on to the proper path, to return them to Mother Moon. Thus not all of them would understand the language of the sea. But Atlas was thrilled to have company, so he forgot all of that and picked up his pace. Είναι αυτό το δάσος σας?

She heard him, of that he was sure. There was a flicker to her eyes and ears which indicated understanding - just not the understanding he wanted. She smiled a cautious smile and introduced herself in one breath, Hello. I'm sorry I don't understand you sir. I'm Thistle Cloud. There was an accent to her words, a curious twisting quality and lilt that made him think, surely you are one of us! but the sound was more foreign to him than the common tongue that fell from her lips.

A small bow was granted in her direction, and he cast his eyes to her paws in humble veneration; for she was a woman, and even if she was a heathen to the ways of the sisters, she was innately better than him. Pardon me, he murmured at her, thoroughly apologetic. He wanted to step around her and continue scrutinizing the trees, but his training curbed that desire. I only asked if this was your forest, miss. It is beautiful.

It had not occurred to him that his own introduction would be pertinent. It was not the way of things in the cove among the sirens, after all.

Ravensblood Forest. It had a curious ring to it... And settled in to his mind as a tidbit of information to bring back to the priestess. How odd that it was not controlled by a pack - it was beautiful, and with the oncoming autumn, it would surely become even more enigmatic a location. Atlas' gaze slipped away from the woman and began to trail along the color-changing boughs above his head, but he kept an ear out for anything she might say.

And speak she did. Her voice was light, and she sounded a little overwhelmed. But why? She was a woman - they, by their very design, deserved more respect than any man. The ensuing quiet may have felt strange to any other wandering wolf, but Atlas was accustomed to the silence of the adepts; it was rare for him to have a conversation with them without the pretext of his station.

A curious name. The consort finally muttered as he turned his two-toned gaze towards her once more. His gaze slipped to the ground at her paws, unwilling to go against his training even if she was a stranger - or a heathen. If this is not your kingdom, where do you come from?