<sup>Karina's scent had been covered, and even the well trained warrior was soon led astray. There was a schisim in his homeland, and Quixote wasn't entirely sure what would happen. While the cinnamon wolf hoped for the best, he shook out his pelt, freeing it from the heavy weight of the collected rain. The spring storm had reduced itself to a light shower, but the terrian was still mucky at its heightest points. Here in the mangroves, it was merely a wet, muddy swamp. The mud caked his underbelly, masking it, letting the black and crimson top coat fall into a gradient down the now dark bottom.

Beads of water clung to the ends of his hair, once more pooling and soaking him through. Another shake yeild only a temporary freedom, but still the male soldiered onward. However, it wasn't long before he heaved a sighed, giving up, the cold traces of Kazak once again met with a dead end. If he had been here, it was long ago and the storm had washed away every trace. Frustration bubbled in his chest, and while he was firm in his moral resolve and will, the mettle of his emotions was been tested by a barriage of obstacles, all taking direct aim at his heart.

He was troubled, to say the least, and after nearly two weeks alone and searching all of Auryn and the free territory he was completely and utterly lost. Now he simple longed for the warm den of his youth, a place to rest his weary head and hurting paws. The male wished for a cool spring to wash the mud from his pelt, but instead he only recieved an increase in the rains. Once more they picked up, soaking and chilling him to the very core of his frame. Another shake, another moment of freedom from the water.

He had to get his barings, however difficult the muck made it. Crimson-flecked eyes scanned his surroundings, and a dry spot seemed to offer him warmth. Low tide let a hallowed out den in the side of a bank, and he couldn't pass up the chance. The cool rains had deprived him of his senses, and he simply yearned for a place to warm and gain them back. But upon entering, his eyes alerted him to his mistake: intrustion. He was startled, quickly stepping back, and calling over the din of the rain. He'd only glimpsed the figure of another and her scent exploded in his nostrils, but he didn't notice the size of the den or if there was another. Quixote could only hope...

"I apologize! I didn't mean to intrude, but is there room for another?"</sup>

<sup>She had appeared and accomadated best she could, this stranger. It was always a risk asking for another's help, not only because it hurt his pride but because it was a gamble. For all he knew, she could've come flying out to attack him--she still might, but perhaps deciding against it until the weather lightens up. Either way, Quixote wasn't about to turn down aplace to escape the rain. He shook out his fur, doing his best to free away the mud and water. Finally satisfied, he crawled into the narrow opening, his body pressing against hers as he re-adjusted, so that his back faced the entrance.

Carefully he pulled his paws underneath his body, trying to spare soaking the dry female as much as possible; however, he couldn't help but touch her, such was the confines of the den. His brassy tone echoed in the tiny hole, and she he lowered his tone to a gentle whisper. "Thank you, miss. I'd feel quite out of place without introducing myself, given the current confines of the situation: I'm Quixote. And your name?"

In all reality, he didn't want to talk. The places where they touch were warmed instantly, and the feeling radiated all over his body from those points. The heat of her body quickly encapsulated him, seeping through his wet fur just as the water did. While he was not yet dry, he was atleast out of the chilly showers of spring. Every fibre of his being wanted to curl up and fall into a slumber right then and there, but instinct would not permit him such pleasure, and manners would refuse if sheer instinct failed. So Quixote compramised, pulling into a tighter ball, and letting out an exhausted sigh as he awaited her name.</sup>

<sup>"Saga," He whispered, familliarizing himself with the name. "That's so... unique." And such a pretty sound. He finished in his mind. Funny how such a name fit with such a wolf... and such a strange wolf this was. It was unusual having someone tell him to sleep, forcing his mind to silence; not since his puphood had a female ever given him such a command. He offered a sigh, not willing to disobey. His eyelids were already so heavy, and with her permission he offered up his sight to the confines of her den. The din of the rain started to grow once more, providing a static for the focus point of his own pulse. Like music in his ears, all he heard was the rain, Saga's breathing and his own heart.

Quixote tried his best not to surrender all his senses, but it did not take long for him to lose touch completely as his mind shut down and he drifted into a deep sleep...</sup>

<sup>He awoke to the din of the rain, in sleep his body had not remained well trained. In the small confines of the den, his muscles had relaxed to the point where he fully encompassed Sagatarious' small frame. She was a lithe red wolf, and he a large, stocky timber; the size differences were far greater than just gender alone, genetics had their hand in the matter. But as he awoke, he slowly moved away from her, trying his best not to distrub the female. After locating the entrance, he pushed his way through the mangroves, into the early morning shower.

Quixote let out a sigh, and his crimson and gold optics quickly adjusted to the grey light, looking out through the mangroves to see that nothing had much changed. All hope drained from him as the rain started to once again collect on the tips of his fur. He'd desperately searched for Czar and Karina and Kazak, but all the trails had fallen dead. His world was spinning out of control, and the male was trying his hardest not to be pulled down with it. He knew Druid would've noticed his absence now, and so his ind started working up excuses and reasons... he stll didn't know how to act around her.

Ever since their fight i the desert, he wasn't sure of anything. But he knew what was right was in his heart. He turned his head around and looked back at the den entrance; this female had been so kind, and he didn't want to intrude. He wasn't really sure about her, but part of him just wanted to stay here. While the mud was still caked to his fur and this place always seemed o be raining, he was sure that inside that den was warmth... and love... even if only just extended in the friendly, hospitable form. Another sigh echoed from his throat.

"If only..."</sup>

<sup>"Oh what can you do with a sentimental heart?" She smarted, playfully though. Renee started at him with her infinately deep grey-gold eyes which contrasted with her ebony coat. She was young, lithe, full of energy as she called back at her older brother. She ran farther on ahead, infinately faster than Quixote, or at least that's how it seemed to the yearling. Even though he did not doubt his own abilities, it always wondered him that his sister had not been selected as an Heir; she seemed to promising and her future unbounded by any obstacle.

A young female had fallen for Quixote, and although he would not consider taking a mate until his time in the gaurd was up, his heart strings still tugged at his consious, suggesting a small daydream. His younger sister thought him silly; she was right, though, wasn't she? Sentiment did not win battles, it only hindered a wolf, blocking them from seeing clearly, unobscured by emotion. She seemd so wise, and with a chuckle, the young male brushed off the fancy and chased after his sister.


He had always been the one in pursuit, never the one pursued; well, it wasn't entirely true; the demons of his past constantly sought him out, though he'd been very good at eluding them thus far. Despite Quixote's attempt to numb himself to his surroundings, he could sense Saga's presence. She beckoned for him, nudging against his tense shoulder.

She was presistant, he had to give her that. She was sharing a drink called lonliness, but he knew it was far better than being alone; at least they could empathize with each other. But Quixote didn't want to intrude, and he certainly did not want to give up his search. The warmth of the den was a pleasure, but the satisfaction of completing a search was exponentially better.

He turned his head, looking at her without any particular expression. "I wouldn't want to intrude, Saga. It's your den, and I've mucked it up enough." He sighed, standing momentarily to shake the rain from his coat. So long as his underlayer didn'tget drenched, he was fine. Quixote lowered himself to his haunches, inhaling a deep breath of the humid, boggy air. Once more his eyes focused on her figure, "You're getting all wet out here, there is no need for the both of us to be drenched. Go back to your den, I won't intrude any further."</sup>

<sup>He'd seen such fire before, and for a second a shadow beast rose from the pit of his stomach, grasping at his vocal chords, trying in vain to release a powerful snarl; however, he kept calm and forced the rage back down. Quixote stood up, and shook his head. "The possibility of a gang of wolves being here does not frighten me. The land here does not have enough food to spport any large number, and the mangroves make it difficult to coordinate hunts. Those here are small, lithe creatures, to which I would relentlessly kill. You may think me an idiot, but I am confident in my own skill."

He shook out his coat yet again. "I appologize for my offence and trespasses against you, but I do thank you for letting me sleep. However, I must be on my way now, regardless of danger." Quixote bowed to Saga, as was customary, but there were more pressing matters and he could not afford to dwadle in the marshes of this lower land.</sup>

<sup>Quixote peered up through the rains, catching the female's eyes. Part of him hesitated, and he stood there a long moment, contemplating his next move. He turned slightly towards her, his voice broaching the subject cautiously. "You know, Saga, you don't have to stay out here in the wetlands. You could come with me, and at least the both of us would have company."

While she might be comfortable in this climate, it seemed she didn't exactly have a permenate home, and while Quixote was far from his desert, he felt he should at least extend the invatation. She could always come to Auryn with him, should that suit her fancy, or, for a while at least, they could travel together as companions. Lord knows both of them wouldn't mind someone to talk to. Why she wasn't a desperate, easily pushed over female, he wasn't a sterotypical male. There could be adventure in store, and the cinnamon male felt it was a justified offer.</sup>

<sup>Quixote smiled warmly at her, shook off his coat once more, and started towards the Auryn desert. The dunes would be easier to travel than the marsh, and they could move quickly through the sun soaked lands. But he did not plan to stop home. He had to fin Karina, he had to, and tell her of his secret.

But now the journey would seem less alienating with Saga in tow, and so he felt already more at ease knowing there was someone who would entertain his company. Once more the male smiled in her direction, as he picked up the pace towards home.

"Well, then lets get out of this land of rain and mud." Another shake of his coat freed him of the dirt clods, and he was finally back on track. Perhaps she'd just travel with him, and perhaps, Quixote mused, she'd end up staying.</sup>