Silver Creek crimes against children are so easy to get away with.

If Artaax ever felt things such as guilt or doubt or worry, it might've been said that he had begun to feel all three of those things. As it was, the Feisripa (as he still considered himself) was completely certain he felt none of those things. It was merely a cramping of the stomach from a not-so-fresh coyote cache he had raided a few days back. Or.. a week ago. Okay it was like three weeks ago. He was definitely feeling like shit about how long he'd been gone and worried he'd be called a traitor when he finally made it home again, but let's keep that between us, and especially don't tell him.

But regardless, Artaax knew he ought to be returning to Drageda soon. He had been gone far too long for comfort and knew they were likely to be missing him terribly. He had made a vow to himself though not to return without Bat, and so he wouldn't. They would forgive him when he returned with their wayward goufa in tow.

As you can see, he hasn't read up on the most recent IC drama. He'll get there, though.

Artaax wove quietly through the trees, trying to keep his steps light even as they crunched upon frosted detris. He moved parallel with the creek that gave the territory its name (not that he knew that), knowing that water sources brought wildlife of all kinds together. He still had yet to catch any sign of his younger sister, but he had long ago learned to simply make the most logical choices for where to look and go with it until he got somewhere. Besides, there was a good chance of at least coming across some prey to hunt, and he clearly still needed to wash down the foul meal he'd eaten to make his stomach churn so.

IT'S NOT GUILT, OKAY.