Dragoncrest Cliffs many are the strange chances of the world

Furi's absence weighs heavily on him, though at a glance one could not tell. He does not know the concept of natrona nor has he considered the dangerous implications of her depature -- mostly he feels guilt for not being there for her enough, that she felt she had to leave. Where she always seemed to struggle to feel at home, Étoille had become easily emersed. All he can really do is hope for their paths to cross again some day.

In the meantime, he takes a break from his loitering near the den to stretch his legs. He is content to spend his days now watching the children grow, enjoying this peaceful respite from the chaos of war and politics. He is in the redwoods when he catches scent of Dio nearby mingled with the blood of deer, and intrigued, picks up his pace. He's not spent a lot of time with the wocha but with Furi and Ajatar both departed from Drageda he does not have much in the way of companionship. Perhaps it would be nice to, how do you say, chill. 

A low chuff escapes him as he comes into view of the other man, not wishing to disturb the silence of whatever presumable hunt is going on. Instead he tilts his head in silent question - need a hand?