Wild Berry Meadow I prepare for the noble war

A bloodcloaked spectre; a fiery phantom painted across the steely dark horizon like a smear of bright battlelust, rage, life's essence in its most violent form. The wraith is shaken by the sight of the silhouette, taking it for an ill omen —

But it is only a man. A handsome, haggard man, Zephyr can see now that he's closer.

Perhaps that counts as an ill omen regardless.

Argent eyes flit across the stranger's form with a hint of judgment behind the ice; after all, who takes a bath in the dark? But something else draws him nearer, some irresistible pull that reminds him of his first meetings with Kratos, with Taikon — but he doesn't want to think of them now. Odd time for a bath, He comments, paws settling at the shoreline, stance neutral. Are you nocturnal or something? That's the word he's heard used to describe wolves and other animals that like to be awake at night, at least; he isn't entirely sure he's using it right, but if not, at least he has the option of walking away and pretending he never met this guy.