Light returns to the world. Night-time gives up its hold on the land as the animals awaken, followed shortly by the human and human-looking denizens of Rhy'Din.

Except for the wolf laying by the gate of the Sanctuary.

Well, he's as close to sleep as he ever gets, anyway. Resting would be more accurate, but anyone passing by looking at him would assume that some wolf from the woods had - for some odd reason - chosen to curl up here, at the gates of the Scathachian Sanctuary...at least, until they saw the thick, beaten silver collar around his neck. Then they might assume he was someone's pet.

He's managed to get some sort of control over himself, again...sitting by the water, followed by another night of prowling the city, seems to have brought back his sense of self-control.

Just...something about that scent. It started with that scent, that he is sure of.

As if it had brought the demon side of him up, made it stronger.

Perhaps what that guy had said was truth. Him and many others that hadn't seen anything, but were forming their own speculations.

Curiously, nearly all of them seem to think that whoever it is, is definitely female. An interesting coincidence? Or rumors spreading?

He doesn't know. The scent the...thing...had left didn't reveal the sex - it was too...dirty. Muddled. There was a scent-trace of human in it, but for the most part, all he could find was evil. Like it was human, but only that barely.

He continues lying there, by the gate, resting.

He stirs at the words. Female. With an interesting accent, familiar and yet somehow still strange. He remains the wolf for a few moments, looking her over. Her words bring a canine imitation of a grin to his lips - some people still can't get over treating him like an animal when they see him thus, and privately he finds the attitude amusing. Her appearance isn't quite what he would have expected of one of the Sisters - this must be the one he's heard of referred to about Rhy'Din as the Harlequin.

No joke, this one is, then, he thinks, the grin broadening briefly at the pun.

He pauses just a moment more, the morning breeze bringing her scent to him. Not human, then. Not anymore, anyway. Interesting. He had thought the Sisters of Scathach would be more...mortal. Apparently not.

There is a shimmer of violet light from the amulet dangling from the collar, dim at first, before it brightens and consumes him in a flash, before fading to reveal him in his more human-looking form, sitting on the ground. He looks up at her for a brief moment, bowing his head quickly before springing lightly to his feet.

"A good morn to you, m'lady," he says, bowing slightly and dusting himself off. "I've a few tidbits of information, if you'd be interested."

'Izz?' Must be the lady I talked to here the last time....though I'd thought she would have a name more appropriate to her appearance...like Bambi. He smiles slightly.

"As you friend may have pointed out to you, though, I'm not really capable of entering your Sanctuary in this form, and in my other...well, communicating as a wolf has its limitations. Would you be able to take the message?"

He smiles slightly - a human-looking expression, with just a touch of something...feral...about it.

"A pleasure to meet you, m'lady. Most just call me Wolfe." The grin broadens slightly for a moment. "Though I can't imagine why."

He catches her glance at the gates, observing her in minutae, and wonders for a moment about it, but passes it off shortly. If it were important enough to tell, she might be saying something. It's simpler, he has discovered, to not want what you can't have anyway. His sapphire eyes flicker in their depths briefly with violet light as he listens to her.

Appealing, in an interesting sort of way. It'd be a worthy fight. The way she talks, her tone of voice, her posture and carriage all speak of a highly skilled warrior, and at the same time a most unorthodox, casual person. I wonder how often her style grates against the others of her order, he thinks, and smiles inwardly.

"Anyway...I was told to keep an ear out, and most of what I've heard is, to be frank, wild speculation, fearful mutterings...rumours only. But the night previous, I had the opportunity to...interrogate someone. He had talked to a witness to one of the murders...two brothers, I believe it was, near or in a warehouse...the one where one of the bodies was burned. According to him, this was the act of a single person. I didn't get much of a description of the perpetrator, but that she was female...and dispatching the first brother - the one who was eviscerated, I believe - was an act of simplicity."

He pauses for a moment, as he thinks of the scent he had followed to the water. Something about that still bothers him, but he can't quite put words to it. Still, he doesn't have any difficulty putting the bearer of that scent to the murders, in either case. He shakes it off and goes on.

"I'm not sure if this tells you anything, but this man seemed to think that the murderer...was some sort of demon. Others who have been forming their own ideas have put the same label to this one. And the majority of them think that the demon is a woman."

And I think they may be right, he almost says...but holds it back. This is supposed to be an impartial report, he tells himself.

"Wait."

He isn't sure what drags the single word from him. A certain kinship sensed, perhaps, or just a feeling...whatever. Something compels him, and if he has learned any one thing from his long, long life, it is to never question his instincts.

"There is more," he says, reluctance just barely showing its edge in his voice. He's gone this far - stopping now might only lead to further suspicion. And every little thing can help. It is a lesson he had learned from a long-lost friend - never hold back. Honesty is the best policy, and all that.

"I'm not sure what help this may be...but the night everyone was at the mansion not far from here...the family that was murdered...I found something more. A scent...of sorts. Nothing more than a residual trace, but it wasn't anything like the other smells of the place, you know?" He swallows at the memory of the traces he had found, the feelings they aroused. "I am a demon...and we know our own when we find them. Whatever this was - is - isn't a demon...but it does have a demon behind it."

He pauses, wondering if he should tell the rest - reveal what just a trace contact with this kind of evil had nearly reduced him to. But no. That is his business alone, and he is certain it is something he can handle himself. He has, after all, succeeded very well in the past, through the years. Now should be no different.

"Whatever it was...it chose its method of escape well, and was not in the least easy to track. Whoever - whatever - this is...it's as skilled as any warrior I've yet come across. And as bloodthirsty as any demon I've yet faced...even myself."

Ordinarily, he doesn't let people touch him. Unless he's in a fight, his empathic abilities don't allow for it - touch communicates someone's feelings directly to him, rather than leaving them in the background noise where he can more or less block them out unless he chooses.

So when her hands land on his shoulders, even for the briefest moment, her emotions spring to the forefront of his mind like a cat pouncing on a mouse. The experience is disorienting, and for just a moment it is as if she is in his head. He barely hears what she says.

He struggles for a moment to sort them out. Fear, frustration...and fascination. He just makes out the words about the scent, and suddenly he realizes that she found it too - and that he was not alone in the way it had affected him.

For a moment, he feels a certain kinship with this one, whom he has only just met. Not like attraction, nothing intimate or sensual or...any of that...but a kinship all the same. And as she steps back, he catches something else from her scent.

The smell of something canine.

A lycanthrope?

"You felt it too, didn't you?" he says softly. For a moment, he wonders just what in the hell he's doing - discussing anything like this is not in his nature. Ordinarily, he keeps things like this to himself. But he's already started - might as well finish it. "The...scent...whatever left it...it had an affect on me that..." He sighs, searching for the words to describe it. "I nearly went back to being a true demon again. Just off a trace of the scent. Whatever that thing is...it's dangerous in more ways than one."

He looks away, gathering his thoughts. "I'm not sure how many of your Sisters are like you, m'lady. But I would urge you to caution them - and yourself - to deal carefully with this...I have had ages to learn how to keep myself under the strictest control, and just a small taste of this nearly undid it all."

He can't help it - a laugh escapes him, both at the sight and feel of her surface bravado, as well as what she says. Long, long ago, in the past, he had said the same thing to a young witch who had come to his own sanctuary, though not under the same circumstances. He has no doubt that it is as true of this one as it was (and still is) of him.

"As you say, m'la...Trixie." The habits of a Guardian and knight are hard to break, he thinks to himself with a wry grin. It feels strange to address her by her name...perhaps out of deference to those long-ago ingrained habits.

He bows and turns away, giving his own farewell.

"Should you have need of me, I can be found by the Inn, or otherwise in the West End. And in the meantime...watch your backs...I don't expect this little truce to last long."

Again, there is a brilliant flash of violet light, bright enough to cast shadows even in the daylight, as he slips into his wolf form. He tosses a sharp bark of farewell before loping off.