A swathe of that forest falls dark. Seven hundred and fifty thousand square feet of shadows darkened, of leaf edges sharpened, of twigs and grass sheared at queer angles, all to mark the pass of one man, one person, one god. Vorpal's trail is wide and obvious. It isn't difficult to know he's been here, or to watch the darkness melt away at the edges and know which way he's gone.
-> >> Elia to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 2 Successes
< 1 3 4 5 5 7 8 8 >
====================================-> >> Wyrd + Wits No Flags << <-
GAME: Elia spends 2 Glamour with reason: F&T 2, I really need to like get a hedgebeast
And for someone who tracks? It's so easy to follow that darkness, easier yet when you know who it caused it. The Autumn Wolf turns her nose to the sky, lets her eyes half-lid, and takes in one deep breath per second for three seconds. The scent that she takes from the air, and the shadow trail, is enough for her to follow, and Elia's greatcoat flares out behind her as she takes off in the direction of the trail itself. She doesn't call out, not yet. The god of the hunt will know someone's following him anyway, right?
Ohhhh, he knows. Does he know precisely who it is? No, but he can smell the magic on them, taste their presence on the currents of the Wyrd. He alters course a few times, not much, just enough to test if that beacon he sense is on his tail or not. Once he's sure it is? He starts playing games with the Hedge. As he's followed, the shadows grow deeper and deeper. As Elia closes in, the ambient light is almost completely snuffed. Any darker, there'd be nothing to see at all.
-> >> Elia to Here << <-==============================================
Rolled 2 Successes
< 1 2 2 4 5 5 6 7 7 9 10 >
============================-> >> Wits + Composure + 2 8-Again << <-
Fortunately, canines don't really navigate the world by sight. Still, it's enough for Elia to slow. The sniff-sniff-hrrrrf! is audible in the dark, and her long, lupine tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth. Silence for a moment, some distance into the dark, and then the wolf calls, "It is the small-errrr hun-terrr." Because names in the Hedge, when you're pretty sure but not one hundred percent sure of who you're following? Not the smartest idea the planet has ever had.
From above her comes a voice. "Ah! I thought it might be you." She'd found the right spot easily enough, but hadn't taken the last step or two to find the scent thinning just yet- Vorpal had scrambled up a tree and doubled back overhead to find her before she reached the tree he climbed. He descends in a single drop, landing light as a feather behind her. His voice and scent confirm it's him, despite the darkness, and he reaches out to plant a hand on her head to let her know where he is. "You made it here safely. Good. How are you feeling? I'm pretty sure you're not the only one, or even the only lupine, to be on my trail this evening, and if you're not feeling rather nasty, it might be time to pick up our pace."
When something drops behind her, Elia spins, and her claws phase into existence. The hand on her head as she's fallen into a crouch, ready to attack, has her relaxing minutely, the voice that comes along with it. And then there's the 'I do not believe in personal space' act that he's going to have to get used to from Elia, following that arm up so that he can be properly sniffed at and Verified By Nose. Once Elia has almost literally stuck her nose in his ear to verify that, yep, that's the same godling she sniffed out not too long ago, she steps back, her ears tented out to the sides of her head like awnings on the sides of a trailer or some shit. "I am feel-ing like it is Aut-umn and I was not comforrrr-ta-ble to come to the Ash-en Hunt because I am not known." That's a complicated feeling, apparently. "E-nough. But I did talk to him Gol-den Boy, got my butt sniffed." A roll of her shoulders, no names used in the Hedge. Paranoid Autumns. "Can fight if fights needed."
"Understandable," he remarks, comfortable with her invasion of his bubble. Even in the nearly pitch darkness, he seems perfectly at home- likely not a surprise. "It went well, no fear. There will be other times to make yourself known. And Golden Boy? Sniffed your butt?" He knows what she means, but the turn of phrase remains amusing. "Well, now. I know it's quite the nice butt, but I hadn't expected him to be so -bold.-" A chuckle, and he glances off in one direction. He reaches behind his back and pulls forth a nastily stained length of Stabapple, spinning it in his hand. "Well. Not -needed- perhaps. But it's that or run. And I'm not feeling much like running, if I'm honest."
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