The market stalls were as busy as ever, the flood of people of various culture and the whirling scents of different foods and the vibrant displays and swirling whirlpools of bolts of cloth and other materials was a wild overwhelm for his senses. He did loathe coming to the city, familiar with it as he was, he more often than not found himself feeling beyond lost within its streets despite their unchanging nature. The influx of humans was also something he had yet to grow accustomed to as well. While the sight of them was nothing strange prior to his absence, the humble slums and tents pitched along the alleys and outer walls of Odersten was still a shock to behold. They'd been driven from their homes, he'd been told when he had made vague inquiries.

Crue Efros was no longer a friendly nation to them. The sentiment had been given a slight grunt of disinterest from him. After all, even before he had departed across the ocean, tensions had been high, his home especially as it lay directly on the borders. Apparently gas had been set to fire shortly after his leaving and the war had begun in earnest. Dunmeath had been well defended, a grisly and savage battle for supremacy occurring there that had taken several long years, but alas, they had been worn down and the province had been captured under the Red Queen's banner.

The furrow in his brow hadn't seen fit to depart the stern lines of his countenance as he considered the rest of his options from those that settled before him. Grim preparation for himself, for the safety of those more frail creatures he had made into his neighbors. He had scouted out an area far from the Sanctuary, a place none of them ever seemed to venture towards where he should be well off enough. An egress into the steep, rocky mountain slopes where few animals of prey wandered to lead him astray in that feral frenzy.  The last of his deemed provisions joined the rest in the rucksack he then slung over his shoulder, rattling the duo of blades that spanned his back. Pulling the leather pouch from his belt, he counted out the clatter of coin and placed it on the counter, turning to leave as another eye catching display caught his peripherals, albeit this one unfortunately bearing some resemblance of familiarity. A face he barely retained, but its whereabouts steadfast within the cerebral prison. High social status. Meetings. All of which he had been a quiet part of. A guard dog. A world he no longer belonged to and didn't want to be apart of again.

Of course, such a meeting could not be met with absence. A keen recollection marking the voice that called to him - one he recalled hearing more often than not. “Where have you been hiding little wolf? I haven’t seen you around for years now,” accompanied by the footfalls of one approaching quite rapidly. He stopped his own calm retreat, a slight slump of his shoulder as he turned back towards the man, his gaze once more noting the flick of his goat ears. A detail that had always somewhat intrigued him when he was far younger - how a wolf could have such... docile traits and features. A matter that his own change did little to assuage the curiosity of. After all, he hadn't sprouted any tails or ears or horns or anything of the like.

Was it magic? Just something of passing appearances? Regardless, he would affix his attention to the easy smile that loitered freely upon the man's face. A slight grunt leaving him alas, a muffled ah with the knowing that escape was not something that would be readily accessible. Not until at least somewhat of a social standing was met. Things he was learning more and more with each day. No longer a mere shadow, fleeting and for the most part unseen. His own person. Something he didn't always favor. "I've been away." He answered simply, a roll of his shoulders given in additional response. "Across the sea, I've only recently returned." As if such trivial details were of any use to anyone any longer. The tyrant of Dunmeath lay vanquished, for all of his dire schemes and paranoias about ears within each and every wall - an instinct deeply rooted within Dimitris himself. He could spill the entirety of how the deceased wished to cultivate relations outside those of his own boundaries, connections and threads that would benefit him in volatile takeover. And in the end, it would be for naught. The king would no longer be present to admonish his punishment, and his whims were as listless and fruitless as the arid winds within the deserts.

“Going somewhere?” He inquired further, rose sights taking in the whole of his apparition, a vague raise of his hand given in further motion towards the gathered supplies he'd acquired while within the limits of the city. Odds and ends for the most part. Oils and salves he could not gather from the merchants in Sanctuary without rousing suspicion. Tools with which to deal with the problem he felt almost certain plagued those within Sanctuary. Tonics of wolfbane, toxins. Not the way her preferred to deal with himself, but rather whatever feral cretin had moved in. After all, there wasn't enough territory to share.

"Away for awhile. Then home." He readjusted the pack, his stare cast around the thrumming center of commerce. He had forgotten long ago how many dealt with their own transformations. A way of life he was never meant to experience, at least if his father had had his way about the matter. However, his skin crawled at the reminder that soon many of the faces surrounding them now would be transmuted beyond recognition. The thought of being trapped within the walls of Odersten with them was far more than he bargained for. "Do you not?" The askance fell hand in hand with his gaze settling back upon the were once again.