Altar of Twilight but the lights come on, once every year

The scent trail had gone cold, but Lucca's mind continued to whir in a chaotic mess of confusion and joy and terror. He had picked up on the all too familiar smell of @Tegan only days ago, back in a wood full of brambles, and followed it dutifully until it seemed to have run its course. Or, more likely, he had simply lost it. The boy cursed at himself and felt tears begin to sting the corner of his eyes, frustrated at both his incompetence and the entire circumstance.

Something had happened to him. The dull, metallic scent of blood had permeated his brother's scent along with a mix of other less familiar smells, and Lucca's anxiety had skyrocketed. Tegan was bull-headed and impulsive, but he was not a fighter. At least, he wasn't much of one try as he might to make the world think he was.

The Blackthorn weaved hurriedly through the forest until he emerged on the other side with nothing to show for it save a bunch of burrs that clung to his matted pelt. A wall, insurmountable and awe-inspiring stood before him, blocking his path and, with it, the chance of finding his brother. Soft, barely contained whines escaped from his throat, until they quietened when he suddenly spotted a dark, long-legged figure ahead — unwolf-like at first glance. Its stature unnerved him, but after several moments of staring, he started forward with hesitant steps and a bowed head.

"E-excuse me, mister," he called out softly to the lone stranger.