Silver Moraine [m] i'll cut the soft pockets, let bleed

predictably, zephyr isn't alone for very long. he spots the stranger in short order, seemingly before the dark wolf becomes aware of the wraith's presence. the abrupt lift of the man's head alerts him to their mutual awareness of one another, and zephyr finds himself inexplicably tense — yet equally drawn in by the prospect of another encounter like the one he'd had with wintersbane. he shivers slightly to remember their embrace, and alters his course to meet the midnight-furred stranger. he smells the sea on him as he nears, the tang of salt almost close enough to blood-scent to remind him of better times; of lovers he'd known more intimately than these unknown bedfellows of his. zephyr chuffs softly, tail swaying, and hesitates for several moments in his approach. the draw of heat-scent is still new to him, and he finds himself uncertain of how he'll be received by the stranger.