(You're all good! I'm happy you're back!)

The rumbles of Nezera’s words swung in the humid atmosphere, each syllable etched sharply like claw patterns against the cavern walls. Hart bode where he was, a hulking shadow unruffled by her sudden tone. His gaze glimmered faintly with something indistinct -- humour, perhaps, or intrigue; it was hard to tell.

' Nezera, ' he regurgitated, testing out the name, rolling it over his tongue as though he might pluck some secret from its syllables.

' Ah, Nezera... a name with the bite of cold wind and the grace of morning frost. Fitting, isn't it? For one so keen to fend off her solitude. ' His head tilted barely, his tone alighting somewhere between reverence and amusement, though there was no mistaking the odd rhythm of his words -- disjointed and deliberate like a tune only he could hear.

At her accusation, the faintest twinge ran through his jaw, and for a moment, he stilled utterly. Then his head tipped back, and a guttural chuckle rasped its way free from his throat, a sound like dry leaves caught in a breeze. ' Infringe? ' he reverberated, as though the word itself were some cipher carved into bone. ' No, no -- never. I don’t infringe, little sparrow. I… investigate, perhaps. Linger, occasionally. Wander -- oh, quite often. But infringe? That would require intent far greater than my aimless little heart could conjure. '

He leaned forward narrowly, his claws flexing idly against the stone, leaving faint trails in the grit. ' And yet… you’ve scented me, have you? Traced me like a thread through your borders, tangled me in the fabric of your land. Curious, isn’t it, how the paths we walk -- though separate -- seem to stitch together, knot by knot? But forgive me. A peculiar habit of mine, weaving riddles where plain speech would do. A tick, you might call it. A folly. ' His mouth quirked then, a bizarre, self-aware gesture that didn’t quite meet his eyes. At her mention of competition, Hart’s lobes wriggled faintly, though his posture remained that of a creature utterly at ease.

' Competition, ' he murmured.

' That is what you see when you look at me? Oh, Nezera… I am no hunter of streams or prey, no challenger for dominion over roots and rocks. Yours is a realm I could not hope to command. ' His voice dipped into something softer, nearly wistful.

' And yet, here I am, ' he added after a pause, his tone lifting again to a fractured shard of lightness. ' Still standing, as you say. Still harbouring my scent through this little corner of the storm. '

And outside, the tempest had buffered now, its fury retreating to the edges of the horizon. Warbles of birds lilted in the distance, tentative but persistent. Hart shifted then, his great bulk moving with a liquid ease as he rose to his paws. For a moment, he stood there in the dim light, his presence vast but somehow… unfinished, as though he were more shadow than flesh. ' You speak of nerves struck and borders crossed, ' he murmured, his voice low, almost considerate. ' But I wonder, Nezera… isn’t it a peculiar thing, how the earth gathers us together despite our protests? A storm rages, and here we are, wolves beneath the same stone. Foes by nature, perhaps, but by circumstance... ' He let the sentence trail off, a loose thread left for her to pull if she chose.

And then, far in the distance, the sound of wolves howling rose -- a mournful, haunting symphony that cut through the sweltering ambiance like the edge of a blade. Hart’s ears tugged, his head turning sharply toward the sound. For the first time, his composure cracked, just slightly; his gaze darkened, and something flickered there, quick and fleeting as lightning. He exhaled a long breath that seemed to carry the weight of some unspoken thought. ' Ah, ' he said at last, his voice quieter now, though still threaded with that peculiar cadence. ' The song of the many. A melody I’ve long since forgotten how to sing. '

He glanced back at Nezera, his expression unreadable. ' I fear... we are not alone. '