Chimera Fields (;*´Д`)ﾉ

The word on the wind spoke of a gathering of beasts in this region, the kind that spoke in tongues and called out to the gods of old, those gods which welcomed the blood of their ilk in supplication; these were his people, and he was intent on finding them wherever they  rooted themselves. So it was that the youth tread across the snow, for all purposes a vantablack shadow against the ice, scouring every inch of the terrain for signs of his brother Marruz. He'd come this way — the boy was as certain as ever about this.

That is, until the scent crossed through a gully. The snow was nothing more than murkwater and his brother's path vanished alongside it; if Marruz came this way then he might've been deterred by the slush and its seemingly endless depths, or he'd crossed and had his trail devoured by winter. 'For the love'a Mora, you just had to make me work, didn't you—' The man thought as he came to a halt. His broad paws crunched against the snow and for a moment, all was still.

It wasn't only that there was water — there, lingering nearby. A deeper scent. Fresh, but not familiar. Mithras huffs a breath and gives the gully one last grimace before he departs from it, pushing off the burm of snow and taking up a direct line of approach. He doesn't have to go far to notice the stranger's tiny shape (compared to himself, but Mithas always had an ego that gave him titanic proportions). It wasn't his brother, that was certain. But he approached nonetheless, and called out with his heavy voice, You there—what do you know of this place? As if the first local would hold all the answers.