Rhoa Vezhven

Rhanno's mood grew fouler with each passing day. Where in the name of the great golden bison was his son? His scent had faded from the territory, mingling once with others before vanishing from existence, as if he had left the lands altogether. So help him if he had, for Rhanno would show no mercy if Zoratto thought he could simply run off like that and think himself free. Worry seeped into his mind, wondering if perhaps he had gone back to Navi and Eshinni, but he shook the thought away, certain the boy was not so foolish.

After his quick journey up the mountains, the man rounded back towards the fields he had travelled through earlier, before his captive disappeared. He had sought to return to them, wondering if Zoratto had perhaps gone back there before a scent caused Rhanno to come to a halt. It was the smell of the one he had been tracking; an unmistakeable mix of dry grass, bison and other wolves. Familiar and foreign all at once, and the man was drawn towards it.

He had trailed the mountainside, following a river that eased its way down before opening up into a large lake. It was there he found him, standing and staring into the surface of the water. Cutting a strikingly large silhouette, Rhanno was pleased with the man's initial appearance — he looked tough. Whether or not he was as capable Khal as he looked, though, was to be seen. Picking his way down the rocky slope, the man finally reached level ground and approached the similarly scarred wolf, his ears uncharacteristically flattened in respect. He felt uncomfortable with such a submissive display, and it showed, though he kept quiet, allowing the Khal to speak first once he noted his approach.