As soon as she was mounted, Larkspur began to move. He trotted out of the cave, the mare on his heels, and began scenting. With so many members, it was hard to discern their daughters unique smell immediately. He began to pace back and forth, tail high, and trailed slowly away from the freshest scents. While no master tracker, the wolf had spent most of his life learning how to hunt and follow prey. Noisy as his steps were, when he found a trail he stayed on it. There was another force at work, one supernatural and magical in his mind, and that came from the stone eagle around his neck.
Once the caves began to diminish behind them, he heard the whispering voice and knew he was on the right track. His pace increased to a jog, broke up only when he stopped and turned erratically to investigate stronger points of his daughter’s scent. He was locked on her scent alone and oblivious to the other things he passed—a spooked rabbit, the remains of some dead animal buried in the damp earth—and ran on and into the night. There was a scent here, and while now hours weak, it was fresh enough to tell him that this was where his daughter had gone.
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