Firefly Glen Running in the same race, same pace

His father's scent was everywhere within this valley. He did not know if he should be following it or avoiding it. Considering how their first meeting had gone Abaddon was feeling embittered towards the man and less inclined to seek him out. It had been a strong motivator for him initially and had brought him here to the wilderness; his hunt for Vengeance had ended in a lackluster encounter which he recounted daily, with his fixation slowly mutating in to a sense of resentment. The longer he lingered here - and he'd been roaming for the past month trying to survive the chaos of the earth's tantrums - the more obvious that path became to him. It was up to Abaddon to decide, would he go back to his father and stow his feelings so that he could better himself, or would he choose to abandon the man entirely? Perhaps it was telling enough that Abaddon had not fled from the Wilds yet.

Alas, he needed to focus. The falling snow of the previous night had concluded, leaving the forest surrounding him layered with a thin veneer of shining ice which crunched underfoot. It was not ideal for hunting according to the vagrant - at least not the limited prey that lived in the area. He had been hiding out in the glen for the past few days on the idle hope that something good would present itself. Sometimes he caught the whiff of rabbit musk, or the urine of a fox, but these were thinning scents further diluted by the weather. The chances of anything lingering now was slim.

That is, until he caught the warm aroma of wolf. The pale hackles upon Abaddon's spine raised along with his head, which previously had been stooped, his shoulders jutting higher like risen peaks of ice. This path was fresh. He was not subtle as he marched on after it; he was hungry and he knew what he needed most, above all else... Soon enough, a stalking figure was made apparent within the winding forest, and he could not help the cheshire grin which spread across his own gaunt face; he did not call out immediately and merely watched the girl - for that's what they were, this idling pale thing, almost hulking already, but young and with a vaguely floral scent he often attributed to those of the fairer sex - as she, presumably, hunted for her own meal.