It was nearly duskfall when Caiaphas broke through the shadowed bosk and into the yawning expanse of the lake. To the west the entire horizon was blackened and scorched with simmering red clawing the skyline -- and the byzantine lake brilliant and coruscating reflected the redness with such crimson alacrity it was sharp and painful for the eye to behold. The stillness of it overwhelming. In the distance, thrumming cicadas threw their call across the tranquil water.

She swung wide around the rocky bank and slithered down the damp steppes, gracefully sinking as the mud departed from its hold on the ascension and went clumsily down. She had spent the entire day traveling this far in her search for pack knowledge -- and wearily she dropped into the shallows with a plop that shattered the tranquility of the lake and sent angry ripples off into the black depths.

She sat in the shallows for now, satisfied by her progress. Soon the day would be done and the sun would fade and she would have to find a place to bed for the night -- but for now, she idled.

The afternoon was peace, and the water warm enough -- and everything seemed so tranquil that Caiaphas nearly would have dozed off were it not for the approach of another. Wearily she wiped her rheum-ridden eyes with a sopping paw and stood half upright in an exhaust-ridden recumbent position. Her narrow muzzle canted to the side as a brilliant red wolf met her -- there was an audible and obvious limp to her gait. Despite this weakness, Caiaphas surmised the wolf was not one she would want to trifle with -- and while she was small as wolves went, she was nearly bigger than Caiaphas.

She remained neutral, though she was painfully aware from the wolf's scent that she was fairly close to a newly established territory. "What makes you think I am a sea-wolf?" She questioned smoothly, her expression innocuous and indeterminable. "What hurt you?"

Her expression did not falter -- and as fatigued as she was from the trek she was not yet exhausted enough to miss the disinterest in the female's voice as she explained her reason for calling Caiaphas a sea-wolf. Half of her wished to press the issue forwards and extract from her a name -- but intuitively, she wondered if Fox had even cared enough to commit it to memory. Something about the mein of the fiery female commanded attention -- and it also lead Caiaphas to believe the rowdy and minute creature did not fastidiously remember details unless they interested her.

"There is only one type of sea-wolf." She replied equally as plainly, her gaze falling on the injured limb without sympathy. She did not consider the wolves of Stavanger to be sea-wolves -- they were neither seafaring nor were they coastal in breed. They hunted in their tidy little woods and did not rightly observe the ocean for the immense deity it was. She could assume then, that Fox had likely met one of her own -- but if it had not gotten back to her, perhaps it was not important. "You fell?" She asked dryly, her muzzle canted to the side. "Are you sure someone did not push you?"