Kenelm saw Pharika's nod, but he didn't dare leap out of hiding when she did. He waited instead, finding it wiser to watch for the cat to focus entirely on its first attacker before he came barrelling out at it. It would serve no one but the lynx if he and Pharika flew at it from opposite directions and collided with each other in the effort--

There! Kenelm charged forward as the cat took a swipe at Pharika's chest, thankfully missing her - though only by scant centimeters. It didn't have the chance to do more than notice his arrival before the ashen man slammed into its side, knocking it and himself to the ground in a tangle of fangs and claws. The cat yowled in his ear; distantly Kenelm was aware that its forepaws were tearing shallow gashes into his shoulders as they tumbled around each other, both combatants fighting to get the upper hand on their opponent.

Kenelm snarled as one set of claws raked him hard across his right shoulder - that was going to be a bloody mess to clean up, but nothing terribly important felt as though it had been damaged. All the same, any time Pharika wanted to leap back into the fray, he would greatly appreciate it. He tried to ignore the voice at the back of his mind that whispered that she might very well abandon him to the cat and eat her fill while the two were distracted. A second later, ducking out of the way of a swipe aimed for his face helped focus him back on the fight again.

With Pharika's help the cat was finally chased away, sent spitting angrily off into the grasses as Kenelm dragged himself upright again. His eyes immediately went to his right shoulder, and with a grimace he realized thin trails of blood were trickling down the length of his leg. A few quick laps at the scratches told him that although there was a good amount of blood, the injuries themselves were rather shallow. Hopefully that stupid hairball wouldn't wind up leaving any scars; he rather felt he had plenty of those as it was.

He snorted at Pharika's comments, but the sound was good-natured and he smiled as he trotted over to join her at the carcass. “Not the easiest meal I've ever earned,” he commented wryly. “But I suppose it was good practice, if I ever need to fight for my life again.” He said nothing more, instead digging in to their stolen prey without a second glance at Pharika. The thing could be several days rotted out and he would have been glad for the meal; it was his first big feast in several long, hungry days.

He didn't eat greedily, though. Pharika had fought just as hard for the kill, and it had been her idea to take it in the first place. He left the woman plenty of space beside him as he ate, and only took what he needed to feel comfortably full - at least for the moment. There was still plenty of deer left when he sat back with a happy sigh, his muzzle and chest streaked with blood. Plenty left for seconds, he thought wryly.

Kenelm licked at his muzzle absently, his grey eyes turned towards the south - towards the route he hoped Calanthe may yet have taken. Though his weaker eyesight and distance itself provided something of a blurry barricade to the loner's wandering gaze, he imagined he could almost see the pale woman trotting away from him, following some unknown errand. Hopefully that errand was finding a pack, just as hopefully Kenelm had chosen the right direction to head in now that he had lost Calanthe's scent trail.

He could try asking Pharika if she knew anything about the girl's whereabouts, but he sincerely doubted the otherwise friendly woman would have any information for him. More and more he was beginning to suspect he might be better off asking pack wolves about Calanthe; not only would they have access to more information than what they had each individually discovered, but they would be able to alert at least a few of their pack mates to the girl's appearance. If nothing else, perhaps a pack wolf would be eager for the opportunity to recruit a wandering young woman into their ranks - but Pharika, surely, was no pack wolf. His question might be wasted on her.

Instead he pushed all thoughts of Calanthe to the back of his mind for now, choosing instead to tune in to Pharika's commentary about the Lynx. She had a fair point; cats were notoriously terrible at taking a hint. If a mountain lion didn't understand "stay away" until it was dead, who was Kenelm to say the lynx would prove a better listener? And Pharika clearly knew far more about the stocky, vicious creatures; if she was concerned that theirs - or even any others - might return to try again to fight them for the deer, Kenelm was keen to heed that worry and act accordingly. He had been shredded plenty as it was.

Still, he was going to miss having someone to chat with. His encounter with Pharika had been his first taste of "pack" life since... before. Even if it wasn't exactly the same (surely no pack wolves in their right heads would fight a lynx just to snag a quick bite from its kill!), it had still been a refreshing change of pace from his lonely wandering and fruitless searching. For a moment, he had almost been able to forget there was a single thing wrong in his part of the great, wide world. But now it was time to say goodbye. It was time he continued onward, and continued his long, solitary trek through these untamed wilds.

The ashen man dragged himself to his feet, similarly feeling quite a bit heavier - though certainly looking hardly any fatter - than when he had first encountered Pharika at the spring. He smiled and dipped his head to her in farewell, saying as he did so, “It was certainly interesting, Pharika. Maybe someday we'll run across each other again - although,” he added wryly, “we should attempt to find our own food if we do. I can only handle so many cat fights.” He shook himself out a bit gingerly, mindful of the scratches across his shoulder, and grinning said, “Goodbye for now, Pharika. Try not to get into any more fights with the local wildlife.”

He turned and trotted away, heading south again on a road only he could really "see." He didn't let himself look back, though for a moment the pull was a hard one. With each new wolf he encountered, the former scout of Spirit's Gambol found himself digging his claws back into the open, festering wound the fire had seared into his heart. More and more, the thought was beginning to creep up on him that he might falter and anchor himself to a new pack before he found any further traces or news of his own sister (but never to a new family - never again, not until he knew Calanthe's fate for certain.)

It was a disturbing thought, and one that he was glad to leave behind him to rot beside the lynx's feast.

{EXIT}