Ravensblood Forest You're my, my, my, [m]y lover.

The wayward youth found himself unsettled as he sought the crimson forest his parents had once spoke of as home. It was the creek that truly beckoned him, if only for nostalgic purposes, but aside from a spare few good memories, nothing remained there for him. 

Akavir was not one to linger on the past, especially when he had learned from both Constantine and Durnehviir that true resilience was moving forward. 

What was presumed as the warmth of the spring day that spurned an itch along his spine, the swarthy wolf trailed at a casual gait, finding himself curious to what had drawn his parents here initially--and thankful that they had sought to lay claim to the creek afterward. 

The lingering scent of another caught his attention, and with great pause, the burning gaze of the young male fell upon the pale tawny of a rather diminutive female. He watched her with faint interest, remaining rooted to the spot, uncertain if his presence would spook her.