Shadewood You're just like your father

The caribou had long ago become accustomed to their ever-present watcher. He had pursued them through the heat of the summer, nipped at the heels of their babes when they were born, and yet never took down a single member of the herd. Tryphon's attention had stagnated when hunger truly gripped him — he always sought out smaller game, or fish, although the texture of scales upon his tongue was less than desired. Thus the herd seemed to adapt to having an added member. Tryphon was a transplant, a foreigner in every possible sense, and yet he kept the other predators away.

It was no surprise that as he followed the hulking figure of a young female - still round with the plumpness reserved for pregnancy - he could slip quite close and not elicit fear. The boy watched her; and she, twisting an ear towards him at all times, had her way of keeping tabs. When a sound crackled through the trees and through the din of rain, she turned her head and Tryphon followed suit. Then, with a bolt of energy Tryphon had not witnessed in many days, the creature took off at a brisk pace through the trees and back towardrs the bulk of the herd.

Her grunts and calls echoed through the shadows, but Tryphon did not follow.

He turned his attention to the approaching murk. It was hard enough to see between the trees, let along make out any sort of shapes or recognize things for what they truly were; to Tryphon, the dark figure was only a mess of branches being caught in the wind and pulled free from its origin point. Except it did not fall and clatter to the forest floor — the shape moved between the trees with a distinct understanding for the pathways that lay there.

Curious, Tryphon chose to abandon the caribou for the time being. His own body was low, his head drooping, dripping with water and looking like a large drowned rat more than a hardy northerner; but he followed after the dark figure soundlessly, relying on the rain to mask his scent and the sound of his prowling. Perhaps it was Saghani, returned to him? But he would not hold firm to that idea for long — Tryphon was not eager for the hurt of being wrong.