Vesper trotted northeast through the mountain paths, winding her way up to higher elevations and back down again on a constant, twisting track. Her nose nearly skated the ground at times, sniffing and snorting in the wet dirt, but even though her head was down and therefore her eyes weren’t on her surroundings, she didn’t worry. Presently there was a pair in the sky, and the shadow of the large raven marked her progress as it draped over her lithe, scarred body.

Stark had not asked why she was heading into the mountains; he’d only accompanied her silently when she set off. She had half an idea that he knew what she was looking for, anyway. He’d always been more perceptive than her, and that was saying something.

At any rate, the Centurion had been troubled ever since meeting the coydog archer. She wasn’t sure what it was that had bothered her (other than him almost killing Stark, despite his insistence that he had great aim), but she wanted to track him down and…and do something.

Maybe bite him until he squealed like a girl. Or ask him what kind of punk he thought he was. As if she cared.

The woman traveled further east through the mountains, stopping only briefly when her companion complained of the rain; it had been drizzling on and off for the past hour or so. After it had let up and the bird managed to ruffle his feathers into some semblance of dryness, they went onward, silent and questing or watching.

At some point, Ves lost the scent; it was too muddy and wet, and there weren’t any other signs that the kid has passed by. She sighed, shoulders slackening, and turned back in the direction of home thoughtfully when Stark croaked. It was an innocuous enough sound, but it set her on alert as her angular head lifted to point at his dark body, circling overhead.

Crows, the raven said distastefully. Seeing more, thinking, but crows flying near here.

Vesper snorted. What’s the difference between a raven and a crow? she asked, and her partner glared at her, not deigning to answer a question that was so beneath him. He only continued to circle and peer suspiciously off in the distance.

If she hadn’t had experience with the scouting ravens of Inferni, Vesper might not have thought anything of the dark flock apparently nearby. She knew how birds could be used, and so she was cautious as she padded down the mountain trail once again, her shadow in the sky keeping watch for her. She didn’t know what she should really expect if the birds were indeed more than they seemed, but it was in her nature to expect the worst; it had kept her alive thus far.

As she leaped down onto a lower ledge, sure-footed and confident in her true shape, Stark let out a croak of surprise. She tilted her head back to look at him, and the noise he let out next was far more aggressive. Although he had displayed his rivalry with other types of birds before (such as the magpie they’d met), it seemed like what he was cawing at was far more different than simply a corvid on a different evolutionary branch.

What is it? Vesper asked the large raven, scowling and testing the air. She thought she could detect some odor on the wind, but the drizzle blowing in her nostrils made it hard to actually distinguish what it was. Glancing sharply at her surroundings, she remembered that she was in the vicinage of Anathema, a pack she had little dealing with. Perhaps Stark had spotted one of their members moving through the mountains?

The scarred coywolf hesitated. She didn’t want to be attacked close to foreign territory, but she was curious about the cavern-dwelling pack, despite the warnings others had given. She remembered someone telling her that it was not unlike Salsola in its brutality, which was never a good thing. She wasn’t quite sure where it stood in relation to Inferni, but it might help to get some information about them.

Stark cawed once more, and the Centurion called him down with a sharp noise she’d learned from the other ravens. She could see a large, blurry grey form through the rain, as well as a couple of dots in the sky, which her partner was eyeing darkly. Setting her stance, she lifted her head and gave a low ’yotish yap to let the approaching stranger know where she was.