and strike the nail against the flint

Her pressed onward, carefully going over the scent as they progressed past the beaten path and onto smaller, more minute runs through the foliage. Her eyes deviated between the path ahead of her and beyond, searching periodically for any hint of bright fiery color against the ever-present greenery. The scent itself was muddied and weak, no doubt half-washed out by the rains that had crisscrossed the wilderness in the days past. Perhaps like Tonravik, it too would be lying low in the heat awaiting the coming night for cooler air. Or maybe it had gone to higher climes in their range.

But for all the speculation that she could give it was in passing alone; Echelon wanted nothing more than to find it and dispatch it into darkness permanently, where it would sense nothing. It too would become a marker for their territory, if they were to suss it out from the terrain beyond. She came to a pause at a crossroads, snorting at the ground as she scratched at it.

"The paths converge here," she informed the trailing Iqniq. "What do you see?"