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for a while longer, though brief, dracarys moves with the belief that he is alone in the woodland — pompous such a thought no doubt was. the spell carefully woven is easily broken; first by the pinprick along his nape — that gut feeling that something was off even if the siren prince could not at first place it. steps pause then, a glimpse cast over his shoulder.

there. though it takes a second, longer look to make out the wolf from the snow. the man is cloaked in colors of winter; blessed to not stand out like a sore thumb such as the golden dragon himself.

unusual, thinks dracarys, that the man made no noise to garner attention to himself. the siren prince turns to face the stranger across the way in full, frostbound gaze studious; unyielding. rytsas, issaros (hail, stranger) speaks the siren prince; breaching the silence that had lain heavy between them.