Steadily alternating between a near-crawl and low squat, Verin grimaced as he studied the giant footprint before him. Deeply embossed within a patch of soft grass, the three-pronged impression was easily noticeable among the tall, lushly green foliage. The mage's crimson eyes then eagerly scanned the surrounding woodlands, searching for additional clues as he ran two fingers against the base of the footprint. Once again, he was grateful. As the Wyvern, a predator at the top of its food chain, subsequently failed to cover its tracks. Thus, for only the second time, Wandera had picked up its trail.
Ever since Chloe and himself had managed to embarrass Rurik, their companion had been overly, if not eerily, quiet. While Verin enjoyed this, using the ensuring silence to sharpen his focus during their hunt. He also couldn't help but feel guilty, but quickly dispelled the thought as a question then came to his mind.
"Hey Rurik, if you were a predator who knew he was being hunted, what would you do?" His words were hushed yet firm, implying there was more behind the question than mere curiosity. Hence, as Verin moved away from the footprint, he then turned toward a distantly damaged tree.
-=\ Ω /=-
Mt. Hakobe, Fiore
Snow. It battered his face with ferocious force. Sending a nipping chill over his increasingly tender skin as each of the crystal flakes shattered against his cheeks. Feeling as daggers as they did. Eyes squinted, his face became but a constant scold. Jaw hardened as he pushed on, braving the cold. Each step a struggle as he lifted and lowered frozen feet out of, and then back into, a knee's depth of snow. His emerald eyes leaked as they scanned, then searched the vast expanse of whiteness around him. Attempting to satisfy his urge to rest, whilst not condemning himself to the fate he now fled. With a gloved hand, he went on to fumble then tightly grip the steel rod within his grasp. Stammering his steps as he stumbled, fell, then recovered with an exasperated gasp.
He shivered violently, shrugging off the sensation of pain that accompanied every movement that his body made. While a minute wince proved it to he not without ill effect, the leather clad man simply pressed on as he had for the last quarter hour. Daring not to stop, as not to risk confrontation, or worse, capture by his pursuer, he continued on his wayward path. Thus, he was quick to glance over his shoulder. Quickly, discreetly, as the many times before. A slight wave relief filling his being as he pursed his lips beneath the white scarf he wore.
It was then, if only for an instant, that he heard it. An unearthly roar over the cry of the frigid winds. Turning frantically, he watched as a dual quartet of boulders barreled down an unseeable slope. Appearing to be nothing but distant spots as they sliced through the veil of inclimate weather and continued towards him. He turned and took a step, then paused. He wished to do nothing but run, yet his muscles ached. Thus, he did nothing but wait. Dropping to his knees before laying flat on his stomach upon the surface of the snow. Covering his head, he then closed his eyes, praying that the his snow covered jacket would be enough to hide him among the storm. Again he heard the rumbled roar of the boulders on approach.