
Cloaked in the stink of pine needles and agitation, the golden Seneschal prowled through the trees and roughly shoved his muzzle against bark and brush -- as if some scent of his missing fellow prince could have survived after so long. He lifted his head and growled, hackles stiff on the back of his neck. One brilliant green eye narrowed, while the empty socket was a slit between his eyelids, a hollow one could fall into if they stared too close.
These fucking coyotes... Skoll murmured under his breath in French, and glanced over his shoulder at his companion. This is where you -- where the trail ended? he asked, forcing his rough, angry voice to ease rather than accusing Maciel of dropping the scent. He was grateful for the Mexican wolf to have taken him this far; Skoll had more or less demanded that the Margrave show him where Pascal's trail had disappeared so he could perhaps find him. They were, as Maciel had warned him, very close to Inferni; its coyote stink was strong on the wind.
He growled again, softly, and then swung his head wildly at a rustle in the trees off to his blind side -- but it was only the wind. The Secui male braced his shoulders and glowered out into the forest, uncertain of what to do next. He kneaded the earth with his massive paws, talons scoring the grass like flesh.