Blacktail Deer Plateau It seems that's what they want from me.

He's closer to Ravensblood Forest than BDP, by the river.

His various wounds from his battle with the white warrior had begun to scab, lending a new aroma to the various scents he carried, and he did not like it. The scent of his own blood and the ache in his body reminded him of the loss, and of the panic which had set in to him near the end of the struggle; the ineptitude that followed in that panic was shameful, and he'd woken up feeling hazy and confused. He should have been thankful that he'd woken up at all—the warrior had left him in the bloodied snow, alive, which was more than what Revui would've done.

But that had been days ago. A week, at the very least. His trail had gone cold and he did not know where to hunt now for his target; his mind was abuzz with other thoughts, although not once did he think to give up the hunt or drop his end of the deal with Vengeance. He had not meat to be away from the Nightwalkers for this long. It was his own fault, being as antagonistic as he naturally was, and in losing that battle he'd also lost some time. For all he knew, Vengeance would presume he had backed out of the deal and done the dishonorable thing—but Revui wasn't going to do that. He was loyal to a fault, even if it was to the wrong people.

He would not stop until he'd found what he sought, and followed the river north until he found the woods, but did not know where to go from there. So he reversed; he left the forest and investigated where the river met the trees, sniffing about for any sign of food or wolf or anything of importance, driven further by hunger than his current task, and crossed the frozen shallows, moving towards the mountains and all the familiarity they represented. It was at this point that he found his first trace of life: a washed-out scent that grew heavier as he traveled up the ridge. As it became more pungent he stopped, stiff-legged and cautious, and watched the trees around him with care.