As soon as Klaus reached the fringes of the Nightsong woods the rain begin to fall. Wet darts pelted his dark fur, soaking him and leaving his coat hanging heavily on his form. Only when he thought he was alone and deep within the woodlands did Klaus pause, drooping his head. The young Vektreni welcomed the rain as it dripped into his eyes and soothed his wounds. Dry blood clung to his fur in clumps; not all of it his own.
Having only just returned, the events of Vale weighed heavily on his mind. No sooner when the Howling Peaks come into view did Hekate break off from their stride, eager to return to her son no doubt. She must have reached the Nest by now. He would have too, had he not decided to veer east in search of solitude; a place to clear his mind and away from the prying eyes of his packmates. He didn’t have the courage to confront them. Not now, anyway. Not with the wounds so fresh, both physical and emotional.
While the rain washed away dried