Skovi's ears perked up when he caught the peculiar scent again. In the time the gods had abandoned the Mortal plane, he had taken to prowling the borders of Skardia beyond the Dwarven mountains. Even when he felt they had returned, he continued on his hunt since Exile did not call for him.
For some time now, he had been following a strange scent. Whenever he came close to its location, it would abruptly cross large distances to escape from him. He lowered his snout to sniff at a white feather on the ground with droplets of fresh blood on it.
Skovi's eyes narrowed as he glared up into the tree, searching for any signs of a nest. 'There's nothing there. What a peculiar bird this is. I can feel the power contained in its blood.' Skovi sniffed at the air before turning his large head toward the southwest. 'It must be quite large to produce feathers of this size.'
