September 14th; Late Afternoon; Partly Cloudy; 57 ° F, 14 ° C.
The words he had exchanged with Morganna stuck with him for the past few months. It stoked the rage within him and, with it, all the longing and yearning and devastation. It was official now, he had already lost count of just how long @Piety had been missing. If that was not enough, Skoll was already at wit's end with everything. His days of merely brooding were running short and he had more than enough conviction and motivation to move forward.
Through the morning he had slept and, by mid-day, he ushered @Sven closer towards the heart of Willow Ridge before taking his leave. If he made friends of Niles, Ravenna, and Isolde, so be it... The ghost prince already knew what he could and could not do; Sven could boss them around if he wanted, Skoll didn't care. He believed it was proper behavior for a little royal, and it was with that mindset that he pressed his nose to his son's nose and left the boy on his own.
The boy knew where he could go, just as Skoll knew where to start his search. A black streak through the willow trees, he loped, energetic for the time being as the sun was covered by both clouds and trees. The further he went, the more he felt that uncomfortable prick of a pine needle underfoot. It did little to dissuade him from continuing onward; the Archer still had blood left to bleed and he would offer it for her.
At some point, a whine slipped form his throat and his gait slowed somewhere between the ancient cedars. His coat stood up in terrible spikes in the places where someone should have helped him groom the oily build-up in his fur. He panted as though he had been wandering for days without water. He was determined this time to not return to the Ridge without his beloved dove. Broken or not, she still belonged to him and he was intent on making that so very clear. To the Archer, it was obvious that she was only meant to be within his care. Only his. Having her back in his possession would be the only way he could mollify the yearning within him and put an end to his mania over missing her.
He prowled through the forest, half-limping as his paws burned with each step. As if the forest was warding him away, a pine cone fell from the high canopy above, knocking him square on the back of the neck hard enough to make him slip forward. His muzzle dove into the carpet of thick forest debris and his hind legs folded beneath him in turn.
"Stop," he told nothing and no one in particular, shakily lifting his head so that he could survey his surroundings. "Please." As carefully as he could, he pushed himself up and stood on his aching feet. He teetered to one side, shoving his shoulder into a rough-barked tree much harder than he would have liked. At the back of his skull, he imagined how lost Piety was beyond the shelter of the Willows and inwardly panicked. He bowed his head as his pointed black ears came back against his skull. "I know you're out there," he whispered, straightening himself out again with a huff. "I will find you if it's the last thing I do."