Ithiel is by me!

A silver moon hung in the sky, just the thinner sliver cut against the otherwise purple-black sky. Innumerable stars twinkled alongside this moon, and the world overhead was entirely clear, free of clouds. It was a rare evening for Nova Scotia, for the clouds were near omnipresent. They were not altogether spared from fog, however -- an equally unusual night fog had settled down over the Waste, rolling in from the bay when the sun went down.

Lystra cut through this low-hanging fog, and it swirled behind horse and rider as the pair made their way around the borders. It was night and Zedekiah slumbered in Ithiel's cave, and so he walked the borders blind. His own eyes were perfectly functional, but he felt handicapped without a second pair eyes in the sky. The dusky coyote dismounted from his horse, moving off amongst the trees for a moment. He returned shortly thereafter and prepared to re-mount, but hesitated, his nose twitching as he inhaled.

The world smelled of moisture and mist, but there was something else, too -- something entirely unpleasant and stinking, really. The man grabbed the reins of his horse, patting her neck reassuringly, and led the mare off, following the scent trail. He bent to inspect the earth after walking some distance, poring over it with a stern face. Though they were not altogether protected from a late snowstorm, the most recent winter snows had melted away, leaving great swaths of the Waste as mud, accompanied by wide puddles.

Here was just such a puddle, but the water was swarthy brown. Ithiel walked around it and looked around, grunting. There were a great many streams coursing through the forest to the east of Inferni, he knew, and a scent trail could be disguised from even experienced trackers and scouts with some effort. This was decidedly outside of the forest, however, and the puddle just behind him had been disturbed not long ago. The dusky man decided to remount his horse, and they carried off at a faster clip.

It was only just after that he saw it, moving in the distance. The flatlants of the Waste typically yielded high visibility, but tonight's fog obscured the distance somewhat, and Ithiel was closer than he might have liked. He put his heels into Lystra's sides and urged the big mare forward. She accepted his command and began to trot, then cantered forward at a quick pace. Concealment was not his primary concern at the moment. As he drew nearer, the figure stopped moving and watched him circle around, cutting off forward progress.

As Ithiel turned and slowed his horse to come back around toward the Luperci, he thought of Ezekiel's command. The man tossed back his head and issued a short, sharp cry to draw any nearby Infernians to him. There was not a great distance between his current location and the mansion, and voices carried over the Waste's plains, even fog-drenched as they were. As Ithiel drew near to the scout, he saw the man was smeared with mud and stinking of some foul odor. Leaves and grass stuck to the mud, and the odor appeared to be chemical. Ithiel could not identify it beyond its cloying and foul sweetness, and he went so far as to wrinkle his nose as he drew Lystra to a halt.

The dusty coyote glared down at the stranger. He was cream and orange in coloration, younger than Ithiel by some months, and skinny. The cloak hanging from his shoulders seemed to be giving off most of the four odors, though it was damp and no less mud-covered than the Luperci himself. Why do you skulk around Inferni's borders? he demanded. It was clear to Ithiel the mud, the scent, the leaves and twigs -- these were meant for concealment, as was the hour and weather. He could not afford to wait for the remainder of Inferni to arrive before questioning this slithering worm of a wolf.

Ithiel is by Kitty!

Ithiel knew little but combat. His mother raised him on tales of his father, the great war-general, the coy-wolf who'd turned the tide of war and drove the wolves out. When she died, he had nowhere to turn but the militarized ranks -- as if he would have chosen anything else. He had served actively for only a few months before this farce of a mission, sending two bastard boys out to find a father half a continent away.

The trials of the road were not as bloody as he might have liked: their worst enemy on the trail was boredom. Entire weeks passed when nothing of note occurred -- they passed few landmarks of note, and were traveling too hard to have stopped to sightsee in any case. Boredom bred lax conduct, and lax conduct bred mistakes -- catastrophic failure, in Ithiel's perspective.

What little he remembered of young childhood consisted primarily of himself and Aemon, their youthful war games. Stalking through the grasses, creeping through the desert caves, using underbrush and mud and water and whatever else to conceal themselves. In truth, perhaps he had missed out entirely on a childhood: the only happiness he derived came from combat and training for it anymore. If he had learned to play as a young boy, he might now know pleasures beyond the simple ones he loved so well.

No doubt it was this upbringing which had driven him so quickly to such a conclusion, and the dark man moved toward the scout, who held his ground but seemed to do so doubtfully, as if he might break and run at any moment. The Caelum's lip quivered and a pale tooth gleamed against the drab fur of his muzzle, but that palpable fear in the scout had introduced a flicker of doubt. He stopped at Val's words, twisting his head so he might see her without losing the scout in his periphery.

The truth of her words penetrated his certainty further, and he half turned toward Val, then stopped and twisted back toward the scout. Ithiel was quiet a moment as he stood there, considering. You're right, he admitted at long last, sighing his frustration out in a soft breath. He did not care about the man's smell -- offensive as it was, he could not allow such things to concern him in the face of his sworn duty. Still -- maybe if we take a finger or two, his tongue will loosen? he suggested, primarily hopeful such a suggestion in and of itself would goad the scout to glib speech.