Artorias

Meanwhile, Artorias limped through the bamboo forest. His leg wound from the phytocat was bleeding, and he sat down to rest. Breathing heavily, he proceeded to drag himself to a pool of water, and started to clean the wound. A leg wound was never good news, especially not when you were a wanted thief and killer. Suddenly, he heard a sound. The snap of a branch. Artorias was quick to disguise himself in the thick foliage.
"There, my beauties, eat well." A growl-like female voice made him shudder. "Who's hungry, hmm?" Artorias weakly pushed his tail in. The bleeding was starting to stain the leaves; blood loss was becoming a worry of his. He tried to concentrate on the task of masking himself in more undergrowth, but his own stomach grumbled at the thought of food. He's been starved before, while dragons rushed before him planning his execution, but this was different. He could smell the delicious meat, legs of zeeba, stuffed with turkey and spices, dribbled in sauces, still juicy. A hatchling could easily kill him with his own swords right now!
He decided to take his chances with the other dragon. Carefully stepping out of the leaves, he followed the sound. And found... Another wildclaw, a little larger than him, obviously much older. Her midnight blue fur was thick and lush, her iris claws longer than the fingers holding them. She stood among a pack of wolves, who were eating up a delicious meal. When she turned, he could see her icy blue eyes, a stoic scowl on her face. She was beautiful, prettier than any high-born noble lady he'd ever stolen from.
"Uh..." Artorias trailed off, and stumbled. He landed onto the hard ground. His body was failing him, his leg gushing more and more blood.
"Hello, Artorias." The wildclaw smiled cruelly for a moment. "I must say, I'm surprised you've made it this far."
"Do I... Know you?" His throat felt so parched, his limbs screaming in pain. Any moment now, he wouldn't make it. The wildclaw flicked her hand, and the last thing he could see were her beautiful icy eyes.

His belly was full, his thirst quenched. Artorias kept his eyes closed, wondering what heaven would look like. It felt soft and comfortable. Or was he really there? He'd never had a choice about stealing, hatched in the dirty streets of his town. The contracts? That was different. But he'd needed the money to survive. Surely his Saints would understand his situation, an orphan with no other life?
"Wake up, sleepyhead." The voice seemed familiar. was it his long lost mother? A deceased sibling? He opened his eyes, eager to see the dragons that had birthed him. His kin would be there to greet him into the afterlife, right? He wasn't dead.
"Am I going to have to feed you to the wolves? Not sure if they'd even bother with a scrawny thing like you." The wildclaw, again. He could see her horns as she took something from a shelf. Beautiful earrings, Skoll on one side, Hati on the other. And her pendant? Them curled around a ring. Maybe heirlooms. Definitely valuable. She'd talked of wolves, hadn't she? The wildclaw turned, and he could see her face again. "We meet again, scrawny." Artorias felt a little hurt, seeing as she wasn't in much better condition herself. In the dull lamplight, her fur was black and matted.
"Who are you? How do you know my name?" He growled at her, baring his teeth. Astorias tried to rise, but as soon as he tried to stand, his leg began aching again. There were soft snaps.
"Wounds first, questions later." The wildclaw gave him a cuff across the face. He flinched as she gently parted the fur where his wound was. "You've ripped 6 series of stitches in your sleep, scrawny, and I'm not gonna do them again." She glared at him. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."
"The hard-?" Artorias screamed in pain as agony took over his leg. It itched and hurt more than it had when it'd been ripped open. The wildclaw calmly rested her cool hands over the wound, oblivious to the sound. Then, she gently pulled them away. His leg however, was still on fire. The wildclaw created some ice in her hands out of thin air, and laid the ice on his leg. A mage.
"Witch." He snarled at her.
"Oh Artorias, my friend, I've heard worse. Murderer, Curse, Shade-Beast." The wildclaw laughed. "Some proper introductions, you requested? My name is Shijie." Her eyes didn't have any sympathy, just a scary bloodlust, a sadistic glint.
"Shijie...?" He looked around the room for the first time. A tree grew out of one corner, and a satchel of glowing balls hung on a hook. Beside it hung a black aviator coat with a hood, lined with thick white wool. The walls of the room were of rough bamboo, and the only furniture was the simple cot he lay on, a table, and a stool. It was a small dressing room, perhaps? Then, he looked behind him, and jumped away.
He was in the entrance room of a basement. And behind him... long tables laden with alchemic equipment. The floor was covered in thick skin rugs, and on top of them lay wolves. But not just any wolves... These were beasts too large, too muscled, there gazes too intelligent. Mutts. On the shelves lining the walls lay hundreds of pearlcatcher pearls. The pieces clicked into place.
Wolves. The earrings and pendant. The aviator coat. The satchel of ingredients. Astorias stared at the wildclaw. Dark blue fur. Those mythical icy eyes. Surrounded by floating pearls of the slain.
"Do you know who I am?" Shijie asked gently, her expression slightly unstable.
"Yes." Artorias's voice felt like a whisper. He shivered under her gaze. "You're the Orbiting Spirit, fear of every pearlcatcher in the icefield. Wanted serial killer."
"And you're Artorias, the greatest thief the Wyrmwound has produced in generations." Shijie had a crooked smile. "You looking for a partner in crime?"
Artorias looked at her. Maddened, bloodthirsty, living with the wolves. "Noone would suspect an innocent ambassador, would they?" He was already joying himself.