From the grassy plains emerged the cedar trees, gathering all at once and increasing in density until he knew he was in the right place. A place where his father had hailed. A place where @Maksim had sheltered the remains of his family. A place that held, above all, the answers Rowan had always wanted but always balked to seek. The shadow-faced male continued forward, his strides wide with purpose. The rabbit-heart he harbored in his chest during his younger years were cast aside; courage, he told himself.
The scents of the border became dense in the air but he did not slow to examine them until he was practically barging on to Cut Rock River's doorstep. Planting his dark toes firmly in the soft summer soil, he stood to beckon forward the male who had dropped by Willow Ridge too long ago - only to inhale and hesitate. Confusion worked its way into his dark mask. The River king's scent was not present anywhere - but something very Attaya was.
A smile did not grace his blackened maw but a scowl, disbelieving. The grown boy was no longer bound by useless hopes; his heart did not skip to inhale the scent of what could be his family. He'd been burned by wishful thinking too many times to believe someone sharing his blood could be here until he saw the gold of their eyes to be sure.
Raising his muzzle to the sky Rowan beckoned forward the ghosts. Let them come, he decided and set his gaze of tarnished gold solemnly on the treeline - waiting for them to materialize.