Fox's Glade dogma looks but never peers through the smog

cursing at the air — or perhaps at those god-damned too bright, annoyingly cheerful flowers — wasn't finding aurëwen; and he knows, knows it deep in the marrow of his bones that it's going to be a long time before he returns to rhasesuial because he certainly can't go back to the aranussë with word of blood and their heiress's scent but nothing concrete. more importantly, he doesn't want to go back with that and if she needs his protection? well, leaving her wasn't an option. first — first, falquan reminds himself, he has to find her.

heavy footfalls draw his attention and the sentinel's head snaps to the beast that was, too, drawn to the spot with a secondary bristle of his hackles. haunting jack-o-lantern gaze studies the other male ...falquan was by no means a scrawny or short creature but this male was freakishly big, his pelage dark, filthy and matted; despite that the fact that this male's scent checks out — his wasn't one of the scents mixed with aurëwen's — there is something about him that falquan finds unsettling.

something tells falquan that he should be on his way: pick a scent trail and follow it ...but he'll only get one chance at this and if he chooses the wrong path it'll set him back and by the time he returns to this spot there is a very good chance that the scents will have faded entirely — or at least be far too faint for him to hope to follow. i'm looking for someone. deep baritone is gruff, a low rumble in his native tongue, unsure what language they used in this region.