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Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Something dark and malicious was slowly constricting the land in a way that he could not explain. An ominous sense of foreboding had lingered in the air over the past months, dark and oppressive, and yet to his knowledge, nothing had happened. Every now and then his pelt would give off a soft glow to signal the loss of a life, but they were mostly faint, likely prey falling victim to a predator preparing for the encroaching winter, such was the circle of life.

But there was something far more troubling on the devil's mind. His loyal, ever-present companion was nowhere to be found, and it had been that way for longer than he cared to think about. Jaeger had been charged with his care shortly after his birth and it was he who had assured their safe passage from Estanzia to Helovia (not 'Helvoonia' as he and his behemoth of a friend had previously thought), but seemingly overnight, he had disappeared without a trace. Now, Kratos walked alone, wandering aimlessly in search of his friend in a world that was not his own, praying to the deities he didn't believe in that Jaeger still walked among them, that one of gentle pulsations of his hide wasn't meant for him, that it never would be.

Despite whatever it was going on around them and no matter where it was Jaeger had gone, the season carried on, the trees slowly losing their vibrant green shades in favor of radiant oranges and rich reds. It was so very different than dank home, the brightness of it all nearly enough to curl the stallion's lips taut, but never would he wish to return. If he did, he hoped that he would find his homeland torn to pieces and the heads of his parents on long pikes for their vacuous actions, or better yet, be given the chance to do it himself.

With a sharp inhale, he took one last look around the dense area and intended to leave after that, but up ahead, a single word is carried upon the dulcet breeze, catching in his ears and drawing his attention towards it. It was much too feminine to be Jaeger, such was his luck, but the devil finds himself carrying forward all the same, his substantial frame silent as he moves courtesy the silken cloak that hung around his neck and draped over his back.

He isn't wholly aware what it is he should be expecting, but as he surpassed the stone rotunda sitting near the bank of the brook and his cerulean eyes capture the familiar form of a childhood friend, now grown, his breath hitches. There was no mistaking her, the dawn-child who had grown up alongside of him, ironically, the only speck of brightness in his otherwise dismal colthood in Estanzia. They had been torn apart too suddenly, spurred by rising threats and talk of a revolution, so quickly that he'd been denied the chance to even tell her where he was going or that he was even leaving at all.

When he spoke, his voice was rough, strained from lack of use over the months but carrying the slightest waver of disbelief upon it.

"... Persephone?"

"Talking talk here."

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