Shadewood in war, victory

across the early vestiges of morning, syaoran treks away from the tangy salt and sand that lingers in the air of shimmering sands and into the towering woodlands of the shadewood. he peers up and over the horizon that should be painted a myraid of colors of spun sugar: blue and pink and yellow and orange — only to see the thick coiling of smoke in the distance. it draws a small terse line of concern across his mouth; a soft furrow of his brow ...but does not halt his journey.

into the cool kiss of the shadewood he progresses, shrugging past thick grasping vines and low hanging branches. his motivation is simple: find a shaded place to rest, with clear water to drink and something small to fill his belly.

he did not mean to test the saints; he heeded their words to the letter, moving far from the strath and their wolves—including pharaoh, which pained him slightly; he'd become fond of the young man. but fondness alone was not enough to trump the very real harm those warriors could do to a loner like himself.

after days of scavenging and wandering, aditya wound up in this shady forest, which felt a bit familiar (though all forests looked the same, and as the years went on, they all had blended together in his mind). 

he was soon aware of movement some distance ahead, the whisper of brush past bones, the crunch of paws on fallen leaves and twigs. adi figured that whoever it was would have noticed his presence, too, and increased his pace with an amiable chuff, his voice presenting no threat.

glimpses of silver through green; he squinted, drawing in a deep breath. wolf. thankfully not a boar, at least. . .but not definitive enough to rule whether the figure was friend or foe.