Whitebark Stream i'm sayin' goodbye, mom

@Daighre other tags for ref

He's feeling well enough to travel now, thanks to @Rosalie's care, so he tells her and @Phillip that it's time to go — and then they're off. Permafrost Hollows is soon behind them, and Zephyr doesn't want to look back. Not for a long time, at least.
He splits from his companions for some alone time, finding himself along a bright, chilly river. A familiar place, but he works hard to avoid digging up the memories. He doesn't need that right now. Instead he picks old trails to follow idly, blissfully oblivious for now to his father's history with this place as he wonders whether he might find a pack nearby.

There was someone nearby.
 
He could smell her, on the wind, the breeze. She was the smell of something cold, and the smell of something far older, solid and sturdy, the smell of rock and stone. Mingled in her scent were others, less defined but still muddling.
 
Daighre ignored her.
 
Even when he saw—rather than heard—her, he still paid her little to no mind. He wasn’t impressed by what he saw, anyway.
 
Small. Grey. Young.
 
His mind said annoying.
 
He kept walking, content with a perfectly good nonexistent icebreaker in a nonexistent conversation for a nonexistent relationship.

Gold in the distance — not a bright flash of color like midmorning sunlight woven into fur, but the mild muted kiss of pale yellow flowers, the soft glow of sunset. Alluring in its own way, and he's grateful for the excuse to avoid thinking about Helios. Instead, he turns to see what this golden stranger is all about, steps even and careful as he approaches. Hey, He calls when he's close enough, stopping to watch a little warily. Some dude — bigger than him, but not huge. He could definitely take him in a fight. But honestly, the thought of touching the guy makes him feel a little odd; like he shouldn't, for some reason.

She approached.
 
Daighre huffed. Dragged his feet. Came to a halt like it was pulling teeth. His ears rolled back against his head before rolling forward, and his stance was low, his head in line with his shoulders and spine. His tail hung in the air behind him like dead weight.
 
Along his shoulders and back, his hackles bristled.
 
And maybe—maybe—if he got to the bottom of what she wanted, of why she approached, the sooner she would fucking leave.
 
“What.”

What.
He freezes in place, seeing red and black rather than muted gold for a few jolting moments. The flat response brings an unwanted flush of heat to his face and chest, draws him a few steps closer with an uncharacteristically recognizable expression. Attraction is clear in his gaze, but the rest conflicts; he's annoyed, and he doesn't want to be here, and he definitely doesn't want to feel this way. Who are you? He demands, voice sharp yet wavering, fur bristling in stark contrast to his relaxed posture. He has no idea what he wants from this guy anymore — Kratos, maybe, but that's not possible.

She stepped forward.
 
Not once, not twice, but instead several times, into his personal space.
 
He growled, then, a low, rumbling noise from inside the back of his throat. He rolled his shoulders forward. Refused to be the one to step back when she was the one stepping forward.
 
His ears pressed back against his head and he sneered, black upper lip peeled back and his teeth on display, his chin jutted forward and out. Behind him, his tail raised.
 
“Who the fuck are you?”
 
Whatever fucking moment or episode she was having? He wanted nothing to do with it.

Whatever spell he's under is broken by the response he receives; a bristling, angry response, an unpleasant shock to his overloaded system. He steps back once, then twice, tail rising as his posture finally stiffens to match the mood he projects. No one, He snaps back. A ghost. Then he turns to leave, shame already carving its way through his chest with a white-hot knife. He doesn't know if he can stand to look at the stranger another moment longer — not when he can't seem to control himself or his memories of Kratos, no matter how hard he tries.

Whatever spell she was under was broken, and what Daighre saw underneath wasn’t very impressive either.
 
He huffed.
 
Snorted.
 
Drew out a rough exhale from his nostrils as he watched her leave, her behaviour senseless and inexplainable, and her words even more.
 
Crazy bitch.
 
And true to his earlier thoughts, Daighre had no interest in being involved in whatever her problem was. He turned to leave himself, far too content to leave the situation behind.