Otter Creek the peace and safety of a new dark age

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The rest of the sisters were content in their place on the mountain and usually so was Rheia, but today she felt like a change of scenery. Having never ventured through much of this land she had made her home, an afternoon spent in her own company had led her away from Refurhol and down among the sloping paths. She was nervous when she began her trek and worried that perhaps, should something befall her, there would be no way back - so she had made preparations, marking some trees with symbols she recognized, leaving patterns in hollow places where the snow did not reach, and the like. Little things that had helped her navigate the catacombs of home.
As the terrain evened out in to a series of plateaus the travel became easier. Although it had been a few hours since she had seen Sif or any other friendly face, Rheia was not going to let her fears dominate her drive to explore; so she continued on until the whispering of a creek caught in her ears. It was strange to think that any place would have flowing water at this time of the year but wherever it was, the creek must have had a speeding pulse to prevent winter's grip from overwhelming it. She was eager to see such a place - to be close to the water in any form that it was in, for even a mere creek was divine, an extention of the mother which she missed so dearly.
As Rheia crept along through the snow the chorus of sounds became ever louder, until she was situated upon an uneven bank of slush, rock, and muddy plants which were half frozen. The creek flowed just beyond them, and as the sound filled her ears she closed her eyes to listen - fully content and lost in the moment.

The strigoi moved inland, escaping the bitter, salty tinge of the air in favor of the mountains and plains. He has yet to decide whether to play out the winter as a loner or join a band or pack. Either option has its benefits and detriments, though the former had more benefits than the latter. 

He finds his way to a stream, free from winter's frozen grasp, left to roar contently down its track. He is not immensely thirsty — blood cakes onto his chest and throat, even down to his paws. He is willing to risk the cold waters to clean any last traces of his kill from him. The freezing winds had seemingly solidified the maroon nectar to his fur, becoming infuriating to clean with teeth and tongue alone. 

The creek's bank is not empty, however. He sees her across the way, and as he approaches her features are easier to discern. Her face is blank, eyes closed with concentration. He smiles briefly at her naiveté, before his face regains its stoicness. 

It is not wise to be so lost in reverie out in the open, He says the words cooly, observing the girl from the opposite bank. His body does not sing with hunger, having just feasted. He can bandy words with another without the draw to slash their throats and bathe in the red liquid that spilled from out of it. At least for the moment.

He came upon her completely by accident, and the voice was jarring. Rheia did not understand it all (it was too quick) and she was affected the most by being caught unaware. Her eyes flit open and she ducks as if the voice is a solid object flinging at her head—but in that moment she catches sight of him, and it is enough to make her turn and flee back towards the mountain. It matters little that he is opposite her on the bank; she merely reacts, and boy could she fly.