In all the tracking he had done over the years, of beast and of man, he could not recall ever doing as he was doing now....tracking himself. Or back-tracking rather.

It was nearly an hour past dawn, and slightly longer since he had awoken, naked, under the fir tree, with no memory of how he got there. Of course he knew, in vague generalities, how he got there. He had changed, his form became that of the cat. Fully, in both body and mind, as it sometimes did. And in that form he had no recollection of his true self, just as in this form he had no recollection of what happened while he was the cat.

It had stopped being a worry for him years ago, as it was something that rarely happened without his consent, and when it did it was never more than a few days before he was back to his old self, and back to her. To S'jira. But something was different this time. His last memories were of summer, of sharing his bed with her on night too warm for any sort of covering over them. But this morning he awoke surrounded by snow.

So here he was, trying to figure out where he had been the evening before....hoping to figure out just where he was in relation to his home in RhyDin....to her.

It was a wandering and meandering path, one of an animal with no real destination in mind. The snow underfoot was mostly hard, not from any recent snowfall. Even though there were drifts of up to two or three feet, they easily held his weight while on two feet. Traveling on four across this would have been very easy, and it left little of anything to follow. And the cool winds were quickly removing any trace of a scent, so it was slow going, often requiring him to double back a bit to find where a turn in his path had occurred.

The trees here were still too tall and thick to offer any real glimpse as to the depth of the woods he was in, nor were there any unique birds or other animal sounds to provide any clues. The terrain was slightly rolling, like most of what he's travelled....both in RhyDin and well beyond.

He had come to another spot where the tracks seemed to just stop. He knew it not to be the case, it just meant there had been some abrupt turn. He crouched, fingers lightly moving across the snow as he drew in a deep breath and eyes strained....all three senses searching for anything to tell him the the next....or rather previous in case....step had come from.

A twitch of whiskers was the first indication of something found.

Smoke. The smell of a wood burning fire. The winds were coming from the north and west. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, lips slightly parted, as he stood to full height. Yes, faint....but distinct. It was not just a wood fire, but coal. Coal, and iron."

A forge.

A forge meant people. A town."

Tracking a scent meant he could move quickly, and that he did. Keeping his nose to the wind he covered nearly as much ground in the next quarter hour as he had the previous full one. More and more scents were also reaching him....as soon, sounds as well.?

So focused he was upon the smells and sounds he nearly passed it without notice. A road, one fairly well travelled as it was nearly clear of snow, instead consisting of packed and frozen earth.

He paused for a moment, there on the side of that road. His gaze darting about for anyone that might be traveling it. Modesty aside, while there was a sense of the familiar about him, he still had no idea where he was. And there were many lands about where this form would be welcome, except maybe on the end of a sword or pitchfork.

He was close, within another quarter-hour of walking. But he couldn't just appear like this. Moving in to the cover of the brush, but keeping the road in sight on his left he followed it. Keeping a wary eye and ear open for other travelers. Until he knew just where he was, caution would be needed.

As luck would have it, he was not far from a couple of cottages. At the first people were milling about so he avoided that one. The next was empty of occupants and he was able to find a pair of leggings and a shirt that fit. A worn woolen blanket was found in a corner, and after a couple of well-placed rips were made in the center he pulled that over his head as a sort of makeshift cloak. It would at least keep him warm enough until he could find something else.

There were no shoes or boots large enough to fit him to be found....but he did find a pair of woolen socks that would keep his feet a bit warmer. Realizing he had not eaten yet that day, he filched some bread and cheese he found on his way out the door. He did not take much, just enough to settle the subtle rumble in his stomach. He would have to find a way to get some coin to the folks who owned this cabin at some point.

The winter sun was high as he finally made it in to the city proper. There were nearly as many new sights to be had as there were familiar ones. He forced himself to move slower than he wished, trying not to draw any undue attention. His rather wild and dis-shelved look did draw a few looks here and there, but only the type that most would offer any of the local beggars, the kind that meant he was seen only as something to be avoided if it came too close.

Behind one of the cobblers he found a mismatched pair of leather boots. The hard soles were gone on both, and on one...the inner sole was hanging half loose at the toes. It made a soft slapping noise on the cobblestones as he walked, but they were good enough for his immediate needs.

He made his way for the Dragon next, but not the front porch. Instead he approached from the rear, near the stable. He paused in the year yard, looking over those stables to the loft above. The one he had spent so much time working on to turn it to a living quarters for himself and S'jira. Something that would offer them more space and privacy than the rooms in the Inn itself would, but allow him to be close at hand.

No smoke rose from the chimney. The shutters on the large window he had installed were closed, even against the warmth of the mid-day sun. An emptiness was felt in the pit of his stomach, one that no bread or cheese would take the edge from.

There was only one hand working about the stalls at the moment, and when he went to the far end of the stables to fetch this or that he was able to slip inside, to the stairs that led up to the loft. He did not need his feline senses to tell him that S'jira had not been there in many, many months. The layer of dust over everything made it clear.

He couldn't bring himself to even enter. He quietly closed the door and stood there for a moment.

She was not here.

But what did that mean' Has she left the Inn entirely' Has she left RhyDin" Was she....was she with another" He found himself pacing the open area of the loft, the portion not used for his living space, but rather storage of various things from Inn and stable.

He needed to know more before deciding what to do. He passed a few open crates in his pacing, items from the Inn, including one of things left unclaimed by patrons over the years. Things of little value really, but for some reason kept in case an errant owner should return. Atop this one though was something he could make use of for now. A cloak, not in great shape, but warmer than the blanket he currently wore, and with a large hood.

Not that he was overly concerned with being recognized, not with over three years growth of hair and beard making a tangled mess of his features, but again....stepping in to the Inn wearing a cloak would get less attention than wearing a blanket for a covering.

He was able to slip from the loft unseen, then worked his way back around to the front of the Inn. It was oddly comforting to be moving up the front steps and across the porch, and as he lifted a hand to push open the front door he paused....fingertips resting against the wooden slab. There was nothing.

It wasn't terribly unusual, he tried to reassure himself as he opened the door and moved slowly inside. It was not as if the Inn would constantly feed him impressions. And did he really expect the Inn would instantly realize it was him' Did it know he had been gone" He couldn't imagine that time passed the same from the perspective of the Inn as it did for others. Maybe just as for him it seemed as if he had never been gone, so too did it seem so to the Inn.

He moved more or less towards the bar as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of being inside. Instinctively his gaze was towards the hearth, where she spent so much of her time while here. There was a figure on the couch, under a blanket....smallish, and there was black hair splayed against one of the cushions. Could it.."

No. As the figure shifted a bit, he knew it was simply his own hopes. It was not her.

There were a couple of people at the bar, one behind it as he sat upon one of the vacant stools. Arms rested on the bar top, the hood of the cloak was kept pulled up, shadowing his face as he turned just enough to take a look towards the others.

And then it happened. She appeared at the stairs leading down from the upper level. Bare of foot, dress of muted browns, looking just as ....well...as he remembered. Reflexively he drew in a sharp breath. Maybe the loft was just too...big" for just her and she took to his room in the Inn" Or maybe her old room, the one he had first set her up in those years ago.

He forced himself to breath again, and even though the thought he had prepared himself for this moment he found his hands were tightly gripping the bar to keep himself from leaping up and rushing to her then and there. He had no idea how she would react. He had no clue ....well, if he was going to be honest with himself, if she would even want to see him. After having been deserted by him in such a way, she could very well be happy in the arms of another. And while such a thought both angered and pained him all at once, the thought of causing her pain by just ....appearing....was not something he wanted to do either.

He tried hard not to stare at her as she moved behind the bar to wash and refill her mug. Instead he turned his attention on the other one there, speaking to ask if she was a server. As soon as he tried to speak, his voice cracked noticeably, causing him to cough and hack a bit.

He cleared his throat, and the words that followed were soft and raspy. He had not used his voice in....well, awhile. It was complaining like the hinge on the root-cellar door that had sat idle, exposed to the elements, un-oiled and now screeching under the strain.

The one behind the bar asked if he he would like. As he started to respond he reached for a coin pouch he immediately realized was not there. He had not even thought to search the loft for some money. His frets and worries were clouding his judgement. He had to stop that. He asked for water.

The women helping him mistook the cough as a sign of illness and offered him tea, he declined, but took a mug of the warmed water she poured for him, even as he tried not to open follow S'jira with his gaze when she moved from behind the bar and to the hearth.

He drew the mug of hot water close, drawing in a deep breath as if to inhale the steam from it....in reality he was searching her out, her scent.

It was an odd feeling. In his own mind, he felt as if he had not been gone. It was struggling against his other senses and the things it told him of the time that had passed. He had no reason to miss her, yet his heart ached in a way that would only be explained by such an extended absence.

"Honey will help with the cough."

Words were spoken by the woman behind the bar...his attention shifted to her with a nod, and before he could help himself the gaze slid to the hearth. He turned his gaze back to his mug, making use of the offered honey. His gaze remained on the mug between the occasional sip, but his ears strained to hear past the conversations next to him to hear what he could of the one taking place near the hearth, one between S'jira and the one he had heard introduce herself as 'Tink' a few moments ago.

While his hearing was sharp, in this form it was not as sharp as he was used to, making out the full conversation over the rest of the noise about him was tough, and her voice was soft.

"...too long or the hour is late, ....travel so far to a small home had. ....the north.."

A home" She had a home ....elsewhere.

That feeling returned to the pit of his stomach.

It was difficult to keep his focus after that, though he tried. The two spoke of farming and other things. The woman behind the bar asked if he needed anything, he politely declined. The minutes ticked by slowly as his mind played over things known and unknown.

She had a home, away from the Inn. Was it with another" She mentioned a gift of a horse, did she still have Trygg? Probably the last thing he gave her, a birthday gift given shortly before his disappearance. She was still sewing for others, she offered to help this Tink on her farm, she was still as caring of others as ever.

She seemed....happy.

He raised the mug for a drink only to find it empty. As he placed it back on the bar he suddenly found a need for air. Fresh air.

Rising from the stool he made for the front door. A tug to open the door, another to pull it closed behind him. He paused there on the landing, pulling the cloak a bit tighter about his shoulders before turning to the left. As he walked along the length of the porch he reached out with one hand, letting his fingers trace a line along the front of the Inn as he walked.

He was searching for something. He had started to notice it while at the bar, but now he knew it was there. The Inn reached out and set him awash in sensations. Familiar sensations that gave him a reason to almost smile. The pain of the unknown was still there, but it was lightened somewhat. Both in knowing that the long familiar connection was still there and in the message it brought with it.

Whispered words were soon lost in the chill wind, "You have looked after her....thank you..."

And with that, he ducked under the railing at the end of the porch, turning down between buildings. He needed to find out more. But he also couldn't bear to be so close to her right now. He would be back, maybe find another familiar face that may be able to shed further light.