Cirala had not really planned on following her brother; in fact she had been very surprised to find his scent here at all. She had not known his reasons for his leaving them, and while she cared for him she had not partially cared to know them. She had never been close to him; it was hard, after all, to bond with a sibling that she had not really belonged to her family. More than anything he acted as a reminder of their purpose of their birth, something only he got to see the benefit of. Even if it had been torn from him.
But since picking up on his scent she had found herself tracing him, several days behind it seemed as the scent was never fresh. That was fine by her, she simply wanted to make sure he was alright but didn?t particularly want to intrude upon him. He must have left for some reason, and she would rather not become a part of his life if he had left to escape them. The scent was getting fresher, and she hesitated. But the scent of a somewhat fresh kill won her over. She doubted there would be any left by the time she caught up to the boy but she was willing to chance it.
She broke into a lope, blue-black paws beating at the snow covered ground, kicking up the ivory powder. Hazel orbs scanning the horizon as the scent became stronger, fresher. She skidded to a halt a ways away from him, he was facing away from her and she hesitated again, unsure. The wind picked up then, chill and blowing snow but she suddenly realised she was upwind of him. She would wait then, let him make the call.
