Sawtooth Spire Your love will be safe with me.

From Moonglow's higher vantage, Ciri looked to the East. She saw the distant spires of Sawtooth reach into the clouds and, much to her surprise, felt a deep longing to revisit the range where she'd been born. The swallow could not explain this pull, this ignited desire in her heart, and figured it might be some need within her to feel closer to her mother.

They'd been happy there, living on the edge of Sagtannet's claim. She thought fondly of her childhood, of warm Summer days chasing pebbles with Elke and sheltering beneath the great tree beyond their den with her father; the comforting lull of his voice. She remembered the freshness the rain brought and the taste of dewdrops that clung to mountain grass, and without consideration for much else she began to pick her way across the valley toward Sawtooth Spire.

Ciri spent several days reminding herself of the joy she'd felt there, when her family had been whole. She lingered near the small cave where Nyx had brought her into the world and triee to imagine herself as a newborn. Had she been difficult, then? Was motherhood more challenge than blessing?

On the third, having convinced herself to return home, her body had prepared itself for the season. Ciri had thought it would not come, being so late, and she supposed it would be best to lay low for the worst of it. To wander out in the open would attract all sorts of unwanted attention, so she ventured deeper into her old haunt with every intention of squirreling herself away.

If this wasn't AW just let me know! <3

He left the shores and the sea-tossed rocks for higher ground and better company. This sunny day found him finally breaching the wall he'd set out to climb after discovering hidden tow paths and worn switch backs along the face of the stone. Who knew what he would find on the other side? He didn't expect this. 

A labrynth of skybound stone, sharp and pointed heavenward, speckled between by tree and grass, water and snow. He'd taken a moment to take it all in before he'd descended like an eager child. What else would he find here! Who else knew such a place existed?

Someone, it seemed, as he traveled inwards. He caught her scent trailing deep into the spires heart, and something about it compelled him to follow. It made sense, anyway, for a man like Evander to seek out every stranger he found. After all, he'd not had company since the madman on the shore.

Strange to as he maneuvered the mountains, that thus far into the season, he had managed to keep primarily to himself. His duty to his pack was always at the forefront—but with Mae’s injury only weeks prior he hadn’t traveled as much—it had left a certain distaste in his mouth.

Not because he wished to be away from the valley—simply, he couldn’t justify keeping the valley safe if they did not know what lay around them. Already knowing what hellmouth lay to the north of the creek, in the taiga, he chose to skirt along the mountains—a day or two at best.

To clear one’s mind.

So when his path crossed upon the siren scent of a she-wolf, he was far more tempted to skirt away—to lay out another route, until his eyes caught view of the she-wolf—arrested for a moment by the vibrant yellow of her eyes and reminded for just a stolen moment of the little panther omega at home.

The resemblance after that was gone though—and his eyes would drift from her, his own form suspended for the moment, to the whisper of another set of steps—stirring a fang to slip from his lips.

Ciri was not foolish enough to believe that she'd be alone in the mountains. The Teekons were heavily populated with bachelors who would detect her receptive scent from miles off and make their way to her as though she carried a homing beacon.

After a time, the first of many had located her. The swarthy Ostrega lifted her muzzle to regard the raven-pelted stranger and kept her distance, hopeful that he would respect her enough to maintain his own.

They simply stared at one another, until the rogue averted his gaze elsewhere. Ciri splayed a velvet ear and noted the sound of approaching footfall. Her belly flipped nervously as she shifted in the direction of another opportunistic rogue.

He found another scent along the way: a man's, fresh and winding. One by the one the pieces clicked. Spring air, summer heat.

Maybe he should leave.

But Evander carried onward. The man's scent was wholly separate and did not dance with the woman's until this very end. He doubted they came here together. A hapless rogue, perhaps, like himself - though each lay intermingled with the undercurrent of others, distinctly different.

He saw what's what.

A fang greeted him from the lip of the swarthy man. Gilded eyes appraised him, and the woman beyond him, who was not exactly throwing herself the large man's way.

Did I interrupt something? he asked, casual.

His gaze flicked between the two.

He did not come any closer.

A man dressed in rich gold and iridescent silver—vibrant in the ways that Akavir remained darkened. The she-wolf looked between them both—his own fang exposed when the other spoke, and then slipping back to tuck behind a controlled lip—it was not the man that intimidated him, but the mere scenario that called attention to barbaric antics—

—she remained rooted to the spot, and thus, the Mayfair shifted closer to the other man, eyes cast upon him in appraisal and consideration. “Not that I know of,” he offered the man, wondering what it was that would occur from here.