Lost little lamb

Basilisk felt a restlessness in his body as he stalked through the Col. It was growing late, and winter was thick around them. He could feel the bite of the cold through his thick coat, though he ignored the chill. Ignita had most likely gotten caught up in one job or another, and hadn't returned to her den yet. A light blanket of snow shrouded her scent trail. But he would find it, he would find her. He always did.

He stuck his nose first in the storage den, where she was most commonly found. She wasn't among the coats, or the racks of meat. He stalked further inside, hunting his prey. He moved through the entrances to the pool, looking for a golden head. She loved the warmth of the water, but that desire hadn't led her here. He backed out of the den, back out into the Col. He stalked to the smithy with a low growl, and found it empty, the forge cold. Where of where had his little Ignita gone?