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Monotone clouds hung, stormy grey, thick, and lackluster in the sky, pressing in like a heavy burden upon the sun’s rays that they so expertly concealed from touching the barren death that plagued the earth, failing to aid in the melting of the stark (and in the sunlight blinding) snow that fell freely at it’s own discretion. Raiden was not a fan of winter. They were insufferable months, chilling to the very marrow of his bones. Deeper than the icy chill that seeped despite the thick, tendrils of silken platinum silver colored fur that worked to keep it at bay, rooting it’s seed in his heart and blood it brought memories alive, their wispy existence seducing his conscious to relive them. The times when he had painted the stark canvas of snow with blood, when he had sacrificed lives to the death of winter to appease the cruel spirit that must have created such a hellish season. To breathe even the slightest breath of life into Ripper would ruin everything he was trying to fix. These thoughts were never allowed to root into his conscious, kept firmly at bay. Life barely existed in winter, to him. Winter, in a contemplative aspect to Raiden was death, with it’s protégé Spring as rebirth.
Raiden had taken to the lake, for some reason or another. It wasn’t as if it were all that particularly useful besides a drink in the places where the moving water had broken the ice into weightless, floating chunks. Otherwise, most of it remained frozen. This time of year it did not attract much prey, sending him out on journeys - some longer than others just to find a meal to sate his hunger. It had drawn him away early in the morning when he had chased a sickly, abandoned fawn, pulling him out of the lake’s territory on it’s chase. In the end, predator had been successful and had consumed his meal wisely - being sure to bury what he did not eat to return to. There was no telling when a small, personal cache might come in handy. After the hiding of his meat he returned to the lake, to be closer to his temporary den, but to also get a drink and attempt to clean the gruesome image of blood dried to his chin and muzzle, staining the fur of his chest where it had splattered from his tell-tale meal. Being coated in blood did little to help keep the seduction of what he had done when he had been known as Ripper at bay. He trotted towards a small section of the lake’s frozen surface that had been broken, bent his muzzle to take a drink, pausing as his leathery black nostrils lingered just above a drifting chunk of ice, a downwind carrying an unfamiliar scent of another his way. Salmon pink tongue flashed out to draw across the ice, stinging and radiating the nerves of his mouth before he rose his head and glanced in her direction.
She was hard to miss.
It was unclear if she had noticed him herself or not, yet. For a moment sea blue eyes studied her in what Raiden thought was secret, brow furrowing as he deduced that she was just staring at the ice - from what he could see. Slowly, Raiden began to make his way towards her. "Are you lost?" Raiden couldn’t help but ponder aloud in her direction, despite that she did not particularly show signs of being lost - except for maybe in the catacombs of her own thoughts.