It shouldn't have surprised him that she didn't answer his question. She hadn't seemed to have much of a plan beyond preventing him from wreaking the kind of havoc he craved—whether that was because she genuinely didn't have one, or because she didn't want him to know it, Zipartas wasn't sure. But judging by the expression she made at him before moving to break camp, he'd guess it was the former.
How annoying.
Nevertheless, he was helpless but to follow her when she moved on. The excruciating experience from the day before had made that clear enough, and he had no desire to repeat it. As stubborn and spiteful as he could be, Zipartas still didn't enjoy pain. He would endure it for a cause, but the sheer mindless obedience it had sparked in him was something he didn't care for. This problem would require a more finessed solution, he felt, rather than throwing himself at the walls of his 'cage' like a wild animal. It didn't seem like he could simply break Bytta's will with that kind of relentless assault. This wasn't a binding she had to maintain—something that was simply in place once she had cast it.
Another annoyance.
When she made camp again, still without really acknowledging his presence, Zipartas watched her until she disappeared into her tent and then simply walked away. She'd know the direction he was in, he presumed, and probably how far away he was... but judging by the explorations he'd done previously of his mobile prison, Bytta likely wouldn't care if he roamed within its confines.
He didn't get far, though, before he sensed something interesting. Promising, even.
More difficult though it was now, he'd adopted his favored monstrous form just to prove to himself that he still could. It took a concentrated effort, but it was more convenient for moving around under the desert sun than his more humanoid one. But with the focus it took, it meant he wasn't paying as close attention to what his senses were telling him. He'd reached the cliff edge of another rocky outcropping before the wind shifted and he caught the scent of human from below.
Peering over the edge, Zipartas' eyes glinted bright emerald green as he spied the small camp, a huddle of tents in the thin shade less than a mile from where Bytta had set up her own.
Would their screams wake her? Would she sense that he was up to mischief? Either way, he didn't care. Almost gleefully, he slunk forward and picked his way vertically down the rock, claws digging against it and showering the tents below with chips of stone.
For the things he had in mind, even that mild warning wouldn't save them. They wouldn't be fast enough to reach the edge of the binding before he was on them, even if they knew he was coming.
Less than halfway down the modest cliff, he braced himself and sprang—landing on his clawed feet, taloned hands tearing through the canvas of the tent to get at the morsels inside, bladed tail poised to strike at them as soon as they were visible. But though his sharp fingers rent the cloth easily enough, another unseen barrier made them skitter off the surface of his would-be victim's skin, casting heatless sparks as the magic of his transformation met that of the binding. The human below him shrieked, and he howled right back in rage, lashing out at their belly with his tail and thwarted yet again when it glanced off as though the man was wearing impervious armor.
Damn her. Damn her for ever being born, and for keeping him from what he wanted.