41st of Spring 512AV
The night was growing darker, nearing the soothing black of midnight. The sky had turned from the bright blue to a darker black and grey, but Shadowfang did not need the light to help him find what he was looking for. He was listening to his nose, following a faint, familiar scent, one that he had so dearly missed over the span of two years. Of course, if he could help it, he would never admit that to her. Ever since she had shown up in the Crimson Edge camp and then disappeared just as abruptly, he had been on the lookout for her. Now he had decided to actively seek her out.
The scent had led him to an area he had never been before and, as always, he was wary. The smell of rot and decay began to mix in with the scent and he knew he was getting close. His eyes darted from the side to side, scanning for any trace of anything familiar or dangerous. There were always bandits in this area, he knew, which was why his good hand was always on the hilt of one of his daggers, ready to draw and strike at any moment. He wove through the trees and vines, his wings brushing against the bark. He suddenly froze, shivering from tension and nervousness. As he had passed by a tree, the combination of smells blasted him in the face, flowing into his nose and assaulting his senses.
He turned his head and looked into the darkness of the cave he had stumbled upon. Even his eyes had trouble piercing the darkness, and his sensitive ears failed to hear if there was anything inside. Still, there was that scent that was mixed in with the odor of rotting flesh. Maybe she was here, maybe she was gone, maybe she had never been here. He did not know but he wanted to find out. Still hunched over, he made himself known, calling out hesitantly in his native language.
”Musca?”