Cedar Sweep On your own time.

The little red sýn accepted his presence and invitation and so, the stareater looked no farther into it than that. Alongside her, he moved, long legs carrying the lean and pale spectre through the forest they had found one another in. While she was not his dark furred compatriot, her wordlessness was remniscient of him and in this, Stjornuati was comforted, placated even. Watch her be better at tracking, as well. If that was the case, he would surely keep this adventure to himself.

His mistakes were subtle but present; there were a collection of moments where Stjornuati had wandered too far from their track only to lope back to her side and start again. For some moments, he would watch her with the same intensity as before, an attempt made to learn from her just by watching her mannerisms and small tells.

In the present, Stjornuati found himself frustrated, nose to the ground, trying to pick up that scent again so that he would not need to back track. The female was not far, he presumed, but he was not sure if she was close enough to hear the huff and grumble, a telltale sign that he had officially lost the trail he had been so sure of.