The Sunspire go straight at the sun

Warbone angled his face at the male, marveling Inari with his single eye that seemed to be suddenly missing its everpresent lack of light; the dull color there finding itself replaced by a now shining admiration. He shook his head, the motion almost imperceptible, as he said: "I do not know this place. I have come only..." He drew in a breath, confusion creeping along the dark edges of his expression, as he realized that he didn't know the true answer right away.  

There had been no reason for him to ascend these slopes. He had smelled no wolves, and had crossed no prey. Whatever had possessed him to keep climbing was beyond his conception -- and furthermore, he couldn't imagine that his will to climb had been fueled by anything other than the man that stood before him now. 

"For you, I suppose," he finished, releasing the trapped sigh now, as he leaned forward, and inexplicably placed himself to embrace the wolf. His muzzle pressed in silent yearning into Inari's nape, drawing 'round to the blades of his shoulders, where his chin felt need to rest against the soft line of where his neck met his spine. Warbone withdrew, quicker than he had drawn forth, and he stood back to steady himself, his tail wagging and his ears pressed forward.

It was not in him to believe in such things as fate. The topic came up often in his head, and he always fought it back with reason and logic. But there was none here, and Warbone felt the need to admit as such openly. That there was no explanation, except that they should always meet, whenever they were near. "I am inexplicably... drawn to you."