Broken Antler Fen when we drive

Three days.

Three sunrises spent following the pull of something only they could feel, a disruption in the universe. Where it was, Mephistopheles couldn't tell, but they knew the scent of unrest. That odious and sulphuric flavor of corruption that they could taste on their tongue. Gods, it burned.

In their wandering, they had caught lingering scents of other wolves but not run into any just yet. Or perhaps they just hadn't noticed in their determination to find what had kept pulling them forward. As it was, they were no longer alone. Ahead of them a brown furred wolf was standing, panting as though they had just raced the-thing-that-follows-aside. Maybe they had met it, gods knew that Mephisto had been chased by the shadowy being many times in their younger days.

Ah, the nights where it kept pace alongside them as they ran back to their families den, always at the same pace only to disappear if they looked too closely. Less now, they saw it.

Raising their voice, Mephistopheles called out to the stranger, "You seem to be weary, stranger! Are you well?"