Firefly Glen Running in the same race, same pace

That same damn rabbit had made its way into the forest again, and this time she didn't give up her tracking when she reached the edge of the territory. Instead, she followed it, focused completely on the trail and not on where she was going. Suddenly, she was somewhere she didn't recognize, and she slowed her steps to look around, hare forgotten once more. Snow had fallen here recently, and the thin dusting crunched softly beneath her paws as she moved. The valley looked like it might be green and full of wild flowers in the spring and summer, but now it was just barren and white. She didn't mind though, mostly she was interested in the prospect of exploring somewhere new and then finding her way back home. Mapping out her new home and the territories that surrounded it had become one of her top priorities, and so she wasn't worried about her unfamiliar surroundings. The mountains no longer rumbled in the distance, but she paused anyway to look that way, worry flickering in her expression. She hadn't heard the sounds lately, and she wondered if the earth would stay quiet. Still, her gaze lingered on the peaks for a bit longer before she started walking again. Maybe the worst had finally passed.

His father's scent was everywhere within this valley. He did not know if he should be following it or avoiding it. Considering how their first meeting had gone Abaddon was feeling embittered towards the man and less inclined to seek him out. It had been a strong motivator for him initially and had brought him here to the wilderness; his hunt for Vengeance had ended in a lackluster encounter which he recounted daily, with his fixation slowly mutating in to a sense of resentment. The longer he lingered here - and he'd been roaming for the past month trying to survive the chaos of the earth's tantrums - the more obvious that path became to him. It was up to Abaddon to decide, would he go back to his father and stow his feelings so that he could better himself, or would he choose to abandon the man entirely? Perhaps it was telling enough that Abaddon had not fled from the Wilds yet.

Alas, he needed to focus. The falling snow of the previous night had concluded, leaving the forest surrounding him layered with a thin veneer of shining ice which crunched underfoot. It was not ideal for hunting according to the vagrant - at least not the limited prey that lived in the area. He had been hiding out in the glen for the past few days on the idle hope that something good would present itself. Sometimes he caught the whiff of rabbit musk, or the urine of a fox, but these were thinning scents further diluted by the weather. The chances of anything lingering now was slim.

That is, until he caught the warm aroma of wolf. The pale hackles upon Abaddon's spine raised along with his head, which previously had been stooped, his shoulders jutting higher like risen peaks of ice. This path was fresh. He was not subtle as he marched on after it; he was hungry and he knew what he needed most, above all else... Soon enough, a stalking figure was made apparent within the winding forest, and he could not help the cheshire grin which spread across his own gaunt face; he did not call out immediately and merely watched the girl - for that's what they were, this idling pale thing, almost hulking already, but young and with a vaguely floral scent he often attributed to those of the fairer sex - as she, presumably, hunted for her own meal.

Nose to the ground, she continued her exploration and search for the elusive rabbit. She was focused and lost within her task but a rustling from behind her made her freeze and lift her head to scan the area around her. She sniffed the air, finding that it didn't much help because all she could smell were unfamiliar wolves. This must be a heavily trafficked area, she thought. When another glance around provided nothing more than a vast blanket of white broken only by the grey and brown of the trees, she lowered her head once more and began walking. A few more steps, and she thought she heard the rustling again, but she ignored it this time and continued to focus on sifting through the many scents for the rabbit she was determined to find. 

The rustling seemed closer this time and when she drew in a breath through her nose, the fresh scent of stranger filled her nostrils. Simmik stopped again, lifting her head to drag her fiery gaze across area around her. She didin't immediately see the man but remained frozen assertively in her place as she scanned the trees again. He blended in well with the white and grey of the wintery forest, so it took her some time to finally see him. She was immediately on alert. She angled herself to face him, her expression suspicious. What are you doing? she demanded. Didn't he know how creepy it was to just stand there and watch someone without letting them know you were there? Why hadn't he said something? She didn't like it at all.

Any hunter worth their mettle knew to keep downwind of their target. It was a method wolves often employed. Abaddon had not thought to do the same in this instance, though. He had been hasty in his pursuit. Gregarious, almost. Silent with his steps due to being a naturally quiet creature, but doing very little to mask himself otherwise. Yes, he managed to watch the girl for a time—but it was short-lived, and when she caught upon his scent her entire demeanour changed. The sulking but invested posture lifted with her attention and there was an edge to her supple body, a tension, and Abaddon could not help the equally alert sensation that empowered him. A sense of control, even if he had been found out.

The girl's eyes darted fretfully across the glen. His own luminous gaze stared hard—twin rubies in the dark—until he could lock gazes with her. She looked startled but otherwise confident; this was not an easy mark, and he would not get what he wanted out of her with charm alone. Already she was resistant to him, whereas the perfect target would be pliable to his whims—or weak, easily overpowered. He knew what he needed but not how to get it in a precise manner, which would pose the next problem.

One obstacle which would be met and conquered, if he had his way.

What are you doing? The girl's tone was barbed. If she was afraid she did not show it in her voice. It was an impressive skill, but Abaddon doubted it was her own doing. Whatever fear he had elicited in her had flourished and died swiftly in that moment of discovery. This did not bother him; in fact he felt emboldened, and made way towards her with a lazy gait, an affect of ennui.

Studying your hunting style. He offered to her. There was a clarity to her expression that was almost beguiling to him, and for a moment he forgot he was speaking to a child. There was a focused quality to her, a frigidity. He wondered how best to proceed but fell silent, still watching—wondering what she would do in the face of his response. It was not a lie, not entirely.

He made his way towards her, and she instinctively took a few steps back, unwilling yet to let him too close. She didn't know him or how long he had been there. She was reluctant to trust that his motives were anything other than ulterior. Studying her hunting style? That was not the answer she had expected. And it honestly didn't make her feel any less skeptical about him. Her expression remained suspicious, her wariness ingrained into her mind by a life that had seen insurmountable grief far too early; she was hesitant to trust that anything could go her way. Why? she asked. Don't you know how to hunt? If not, then he was in the wrong place and studying the wrong wolf; she barely knew how to hunt herself, although she wouldn't tell him that. No need to inform the strange man how inept in most things she actually was. Plus there wasn't much out here to hunt in the first place. The rabbit she had been tracking was long gone by this point, even if her searching hadn't been interrupted. Maybe a more skilled wolf would have been successful where she hadn't been, but she doubted it.