04-02-2008, 12:03 AM
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When Tristan had left Bleeding Souls with his sister, he had not expected to see any of the faces from that place again. He and Alarice had split ways before reaching Awenasa. She had returned home and he had turned west again, roaming as he had become used to. For several months this had been the case, several unremarkable weeks in which he functioned as he always had. Truly, he might have done this for the rest of his life.[/html]
That was until the fire. From miles away he could see it, and he knew where it was. He knew with dire certainty. Tristan did not sleep and did not stop. He crossed the scents of at least a dozen wolves but found his sister not among them. Finally, the wind gave way and he found her, curled in a ball, singed and looking worse then he imagined. Without a word the red wolf curled around her, putting his muzzle near her chin, a faint whine resounding from his chest. A stranger, massive and carrying what appeared to be a dead wolf. Without thinking, the red wolf leapt in front of his sister and lowered his head, tail high and fur along his spine tall. The growl that escaped his throat was vicious, and his pale eyes were manic. This was his sister, and no one was coming near her.