The Heartwood what a brilliant speech you gave

lucifer's smirk lingered as he studied cathal, the boy's naivety almost infectious in its boundless optimism. strong name or not, it seems i’ve been roped into this little adventure of yours, he muttered, more to himself than to cathal. his eyes narrowed as they scanned the terrain ahead, the vast expanse of snow and trees offering little in the way of direction.  

iseldur, he began, the name rolling off his tongue like a curious riddle. if he’s your father, his scent should be stronger than most to you. think, ragazzo. where would he go? water? shelter? somewhere high to survey the land?

lucifer padded a few steps ahead, his nose lowering to the snow as he tested the air. the sharp, crisp scent of pine and frost filled his nostrils, but there was nothing distinct—no immediate trail to follow. he huffed, lifting his head and glancing back at the boy. we’ll need to circle outward, search for signs. tracks, fur, even the faintest scent. you can manage that, sì?