Cassiopeia's View Jibbering, howling and chants in long dead languages

Soon, he and @Praimfaya would seek the wolves of Easthollow. Although Dacio himself was loathe to leave Roangeda's turf behind to seek further knowledge of Vercingetorix' death, he had made a vow to his young Worlida. As stubborn and headstrong as her mother before her, she was not the type to sit idly by whilst murderers roamed their wilds - she would carry on alone even if he were to suggest she stay put. And Dacio, loyal to his core, knew he would do everything in his power to protect her even If it meant going against the teachings of his own kind.

He would go, albeit reluctantly. But they would need to make tracks sooner rather than later if they wanted to avoid Winter's first snowstorms.

The sterling Klikalida ventured beyond the fen as hunger pained his empty belly, driving him into the mountains with the hope that luck would be on his side. He moved quietly on the sure-footed paws of a wolf well practiced on rugged terrain, and he found himself once more thankful for the cliffs on which he'd been raised.

Dacio found no sign of mountain goat, not even a sniff of the big cats that were said to feed on them. The lands were made barren not only by the quaking earth but by the transition of Summertime to cold season and after several hours of fruitless roaming, made to trail along a different route to seek the flatlands again.

A voice drew his charcoal ears forward, and he padded toward the source with a grumble of annoyance; if any potential prey had been lurking there, they were sure to be sent running by this hollering. What Dacio found was a boy around Praimfaya's age who bore an obsidian pelt and, curiously, a pale nose at the end of his snout. "Hei," he greeted plainly as he eyed the juvenile with some suspicion, wondering if he might be a child of the raven Queen and her mate who'd emerged from the lake's mists.