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Scarcely could the moon’s ivory glow reach down through the canopies and illuminate the ground below on a good night, and not at all when grey clouds loomed overhead. It was through the darkness that the ghostly figure moved, away from the borders, at last, his final patrol of the night having ended. Although he could be guided not by the moonlight, he found his way around well enough, all of the time that he’d spent within Blackfeather thus far having made him familiar with nearly every little twist and turn. His paws carried him down paths he’d traveled a million times over, whilst his ears and nose both worked overtime to ensure that no important details were missed. From the scampering of mice to the musky odour of mud, he took it all in and let it dictate his path, turning to avoid slick patches and the lesser nocturnal predators. In the night, with the scent of the approaching rain in the air, he was most at peace, weighed down by naught.
The Inuk’s wanderings drew him near to the glen, which he examined from a distance. He was curious about the children, having yet to meet any of them, but knew better than to approach in the night. Around there he lingered for a little while, before continuing on his way towards Redgrove. Easy was his pace, neither rushed nor dragging, as he proceeded onward, wishing not to wake any that might be sleeping.
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But he did.
Keelut's adventures had somehow ended up with him passing out on the red-carpeted grove that he so often visited. There was something calling for him among those red plants, a presence, something from beyond; but only with his mind forcefully cleared out, enhanced, did he come. There he wandered, thought about the thoughts that clouded him when he wasn't able to tell them apart, and more often than not he found the answers he was grieving for. Keelut had grown alone for the most part of his life. Neither his mother nor his siblings had made an accountable impression in his life enough to call them family... That loneliness had scarred him deeply, molded him to become what he was today. But Kove, Kove had been Keelut's one tie to sanity in his childhood, and his presence had always been a stabilizer in the cloud-minded child who was a child no longer.
His steps, for measured and stealthy as the Conjurer might have thought they were, had been enough to awaken the light-sleeper acolyte. He jumped to sight among the red plants, blinking himself awake, blinking the heavy hanging feel away and catching sight of his beloved father. Keelut had grown lean and tall, almost matching his father's height, but having gotten nowhere near his bulk. Whether his father had noticed him Keelut didn't pay attention; he simply got up from his red bed and followed his father's steps after he walked by, silently stalking the ghastly figure through the grove and wondering where he might lead today. Father was a recurrent presence whenever Keelut had deeply influential experiences, and he always wanted more.