There most certainly were wolves here. Sceral watched the raven curiously from his hiding place, laid between a rock and a tall tree, surrounded by grasses and wild flowers. He snickered under his breath as the clumsy bird slipped and squawked. He remembered his youth, the day he spent with Serach and Fenru as the two boys were taught by their older half-sibling what the creature they found was; a bird. The pale yearling distinctly remembered thinking the winged creature was laughing at him, with its scratchy calls. Sceral smiled, though he hung his head. He missed Fenru and sorely hoped he would return soon; he looked up to the Tainn, after all.

The Aesir jumped when the raven cried out loudly, two loud caws ringing in his ears before he ambient sounds of the forest were all that remained once more. Lifting his head to stare at the black feathered bird, Sceral was utterly confused. Was … was it calling him? That was ridiculous! Simply unimaginable. Or was it? Corinna, his mother, had told him once that crows and ravens would often help wolves to find a meal, be it showing them prey or carcasses that were too tough for their sharp beaks to pick through. Perhaps that's what this one was trying to do. Sceral glanced around, double checking no one was near, before lifting himself up and shaking the dirt and leaves from his coat.

He took a tentative step forward, tilting his head as he looked at the bird. Nervously, and feeling quite foolish, he spoke up to address the winged creature. “Who are you calling? What is it you want?”

The bird turned to look at him and it began to hop, almost excitedly. Sceral couldn't help but be a little bit awestruck. He'd never had an encounter with a raven like this before; mostly, they just teased and played with him. Usually the mischievous little creatures would dive bomb him and swoop away at the last second, or pull his tail to get him to chase them around. Truth be told, he enjoyed their company and envied their freedom. He still wondered what it would be like to fly.

The winged creature began to bound away and Sceral thought that was that. But it stopped and turned to look directly at him, expectantly. It beckoned for him to follow, twittering away and flapping its wings in an enthusiastic manner. The yearling stepped forwards again, following the raven hesitantly. What on Earth did the black-feathered critter want with him? Had it searched for him specifically? Or was this merely coincidence that was turning out to be quite an interesting encounter. Curiosity killed the cat—could it kill the wolf, too? The bird suddenly darted forwards and Sceral scrambled, running after the creature. “Hey, wait!”

It cawed again, with a tone that sounded like it was scolding the wolf, and the pale yearling scowled and huffed. “I can't fly like you can, y'know!” What a cheeky little bird. Sceral wanted to pluck one of those lovely, sleek feathers right off its rump! It was all fine to be able to fly fast, but to snip at something without wings for not being able to keep up with the sudden flapping? Kind of rude, Mr. Bird. “Where are we goin'?” What exactly did this raven want to show him?

The raven led and Sceral followed, a strange game of cat and mouse. It teased him now and then, letting him catch up before it flew on ahead, resulting in the yearling have to stop and start running at somewhat regular intervals. How long they went on like this wasn't entirely known by the boy but he started to recognise where he was, where the bird was taking him. The exact reason he remembered this location, though … he just couldn't place it. He racked his brain, desperate to remember.

And then it struck him, like a bolt of lightning leaping up his spine. His mother. Sceral stumbled, losing his footing and falling uselessly to the floor with a dull thud. He yelped, his chin smarting something awful, before scrambling clumsily to right himself. Why? Why had it led him here?

Shaking dirt from his dusty coat, the Oak Tree Bend yearling glared at the raven, blinking as it too stumbled and flopped to the ground. It writhed and flapped, causing the boy to snicker. It looked awfully amusing, but he supposed that something had caused the little creature to trip. He followed the wolf-bird's gaze, his ears pricking at the sound of footfalls.

Another wolf appeared. Older and taller than him, with dark fur that wasn't quite like Triell's. Suddenly, the pale yearling felt very, very self conscious and uncomfortable. She smelt like the pack, sure, but she had not been around for the winter; she knew nothing of Corinna's passing, and yet here she followed the strange duo as they wandered ever closer to his mother's place of death.

“You shouldn't …” He fell quiet, shaking his head. No. That wasn't how he should respond to their appearance. How were they to know? Sceral hadn't. He'd been in for quite a surprise when he had realised himself. “I'm sorry, but I just … why are you following us? This place is … well, it's …” The yearling hung his head, pawing at the ground before mumbling softly. “It's special.”

Sceral faltered as he looked up to the dark coated wolf. He hadn't expected her to react in such a way. It left him grasping at straws, his mouth opening and closing almost uselessly. The adolescent hadn't meant to come across in a harsh way at all, and he certainly didn't want her to feel out of place. He was just socially awkward and perhaps a little anxious. They were nearing the place of his mother's death, after all. What would she think, seeing him acting so silly? This wolf was a pack mate. He felt as though she'd try to steer him towards being more friendly to the wolves of the Bend. They were like family.

“I didn't know, I can leave.” The pale wolf's ears fell backwards and he shook his head from side to side. “No. No, I'm sorry. It's … it's okay. You don't have to leave.” His tongue flicked out against his dark lips, his gaze stealing away from her to look down at the raven as it stood by him—it was a good excuse to not have to look at her and feel shame for being so cold. Had it hopped off in search of an acorn? Whatever for? It crowed at him and Sceral wondered if, perhaps, his question would be answered soon. The bird continued skittering along and the yearling looked back to the swarthy coated wolf. “I'll tell you about it. When we get there.” He offered a small smile. Every member of Oak Tree Bend deserved to know of the great queen and founder: Corinna Donata.

Sceral turned, following the black feathered bird as if compelled by some greater force. It didn't take long before they stood before the sturdy oak, the Aesir-Donata freezing as he looked up at the green foliage that swayed in the gentle breeze. He inhaled, his lungs full of air before he exhaled a small greeting. “Hi, mum,” he whispered, barely audible against the ambient sounds of the woods. His attention fell, once more, to the raven that beckoned for him to approach and, hesitantly, he crept forwards. He sat next to the feathered critter before glancing over his shoulder to see if the other wolf had, in fact, followed this far.