ooc: Thread Info: Early morning. X'yro in Optime, leaving behind his shirt and staff so he is just wearing a fur and leather loin cloth (I wanted to be all Dothraki sexy). Post Dated to October 17
Jiva… Jiva was the name of the man who bestowed upon the Nomad the last clue that would finally bring an end to this accursed expedition. Jiva, a name and a face that he would never forget, was just as autumn-toned as X’yro himself, and if he had not known any better he might have pegged the youth for one of his own kin. Able bodied, strong, and loyal, when X’yro left the young man, taking with him only the evidence that would lead him to his final destination, he decided he liked him. Indeed, he would have made a fine Nomad… it was a shame he was not born to his people.
Even as he silently thanked Jiva for the help he provided, he was already filing the memory aside, clearing his mind to better focus on what was to come. So, his little sister had shacked up in this waterlogged land and thought she was some kind of Shepherd to a new fold now? What a joke. He knew what this really was, this little charade of hers, and he was coming to call her on her fallacy and expose her for what she truly was… craven...
Molten amber eyes narrowed, his lip curled with the bitter sneer upon his muzzle as he stalked toward the pack lands. This time, so close to his goal and following the information he had leeched from the young one – who knew not what he was doing when he gave the Shepherd’s brother the route to her lands – he remained in the open to better navigate by the stars. Oh, he could follow other paths as well, but with the lands in such dire disrepair from the recent hurricane, the stars were the quickest and most reliable map in nature. That was, when the skies remained cloudless.
Following the twinkling bodies, he found himself through Amherst, around Vinatta (the pack Jiva had been a part of), and soon to the borders of Sangi’lak. The inky dark sky was giving way to the pink hues of morning by the time he arrived, but he had been moving by night for so long that he was not short on rest. For a long while he simply stood atop a knoll, a man tall and proud, gazing out over the territory before him as though they were lands of his own. Hands balled into fists at his side, his walking stick staked into the ground nearby – he would not be needing it any more.
Finally the statue moved, purpose in each moment as he carefully removed the stained, earth-sodden shirt he had worn on this long venture. Prideful as he was, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would let his sister see him this filthy from these dreadful roads. Using the shirt as a rag, he meticulously scrubbed his fur clean, and when the rag itself was too soiled to do any good he knelt down and used the old fashioned canine grooming technique that had served wolf kind for centuries. His journey had been long, he could afford himself a few more hours to make himself look presentable.
The sun was higher in the sky now, azure was now creeping up and the oranges were fading. He could see the soaking lands better now. Still exercising patience, he took his time to unbraid his mane, comb out the knots with his fingers, and rebraided it down his back. Perhaps they knew he was here by now – it wouldn’t surprise him of a true family - but no alarm had sounded.
Finally, calm and clean, he tossed the old rag of a shirt aside, left the walking stick, and stalked toward the outlands of Sangi’lak. The closer he marched the stronger the scent of these settled lands. There was no mistaking it, he had come to the right place.
At the last moment, just as the markings were at their strongest, in a show of Exultare to Exultare courtesy, he turned his muzzle skyward and let out a formidable howl.
“I’m here, sister,” he muttered to himself. “And I have been led by the Ancestors. There is no running from your betrayal now.”