The forty-sixth day of fall, 515 AV
He stood before the simple wooden door, eyes calmly regarding the metal plaque that read "Scarred Wolf Investigations Office". Though he had been told it was where the woman he was seeking had been seen, he had not stopped to consider that the Lady Redwolf had settled down into a business of any sort. She was a formidable woman, whether he aptitude for reimancy had been impressive or not, and though the evidence stared right back at Keene's vaugely clouded eyes, it was still odd to think that anyone with strength of mind and skill would essentially whore out time that might be better spent upon bettering one's self. The irony of his own situation with the Martial Society escaped him, but before he could think upon it any longer, Keene's leather bound knuckles rapped lightly against the firm wood of the door.
On the island, Fallon had requested his assistance with her magical training, something that had been disappointing for both parties, as far as Keene was concerned. Though typically, he would not have sought the woman out as she was an individual who was every bit his equal in her own way, if not more so, making her just as dangerous, Keene had realized only recently that those with whom he could discuss matters of the arcane had dwindled to Zulrav's winds and his own introspection. Though she had struggled with the most basic beginnings of a magic that had become second nature to him, the Lady Redwolf had demonstrated at the very least a basic knowledge of the Ancient Tongue. With his burgeoning work in the more scholarly school of glyphing, and even more recently, animation, Keene found himself lacking the refreshing opinion of another mind. Before, he had had Atziri, Risabel, Boswell, Mella... All little more than memory for what they were worth in the present.
The Lady Redwolf, however... She had shown enough promise that, though Keene wasn't quite certain whether his pursuit was wise or foolish (or even a combination of both), it was one of his better options. Noven was... The thought was pushed aside as Keene shook his head, letting his hand fall to his side, the hem of his cloak's sleeve falling to cover just above the tips of his fingers. The irrationality of his desires towards the caramel skinned, wonder of a man was too distracting for him to get any sort of work done. That, and Noven was more of a physical thinker. There were the students of the University, though, as Keene had discovered through only a few questions to those who were associated with it, the College of Djed was no more, and while he was certain there were those who studied the complexities of the Ancient Tongue, he doubted they would find his desired application of it to merit any assistance, if not hindrance. Thus, the Lady Redwolf was the best option given those he had access; the trident wielding Palaren never once crossing his mind as a potential candidate.
As he waited for either confirmation of the Lady Redwolf's presence within the room just beyond the door in question or for enough time to pass to suggest that, even if it were her headquarters as the plaque suggested, she was not in, Keene stared patiently at the blank face of the wood before him with all the intensity one might expect from looking into a mirror. His eyes traced the line of the grain, moving slowly along the various paths, his mind contemplating which hue was barrier and which was border, letting the ticks stretch on, submitting his case to the hand of fate to do with as it saw fit.