It had been too since Cry had seen his Uncle. So long, in fact, that the Assassin began to assume the bear of a wolf, dead. He hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions, but it had been atleast a year, if not more. He hadn’t seen the Sire of Nightmares anywhere, nor the band of stragglers that had come with them. He hadn’t even seen Leila, and Cry tried his damndest to keep out the possibility that the gentle hearted girl too had perished. But pessimism ran in his blood, and until proven innocent, all were guilty in the Phantom’s mind.

Continuing his journey through the forest, he halfheartedly searches for clues while rethinking his past. A hurtful past, one filled with loss and restraint. One filled with smiling faces and soon, ghosts. Absence...he knew it. Forsakenment...he knew it, too. Forlorn...all of them were present in his numb mind. But there wasn’t anything the hitman could do about them. Just as there was nothing he could do about those who he knew only for them to disappear as easily as they had come in his life. 

Adjacent from him, his glazed over glacials skimmed across a blur of darkness, and with it, an alignment of wolf scent. Instantaneously his focus returned, aids targeting this living being and irises froze upon whoever this might be. Momentarily his athletic body had frozen, and he had become one with the stillness of a murdered forest.

For a second, a slight second, he thought this was Slade. Huge in structure and motionlessly, Cry tried to catch the brute’s eyes. Should this be his Uncle, there would be hell to pay.

Cry couldn’t tell by anything else other than voice- Slade had a deep voice that made your insides curl in and vomit over themselves should you know what the difference between sanity and insanity was. It was the same voice that infant babes wailed to if they knew what was good for them, but that one child...the one child who feared nothing. A pup so fearless it had been taken from the den, and trained under that behemoth, 

and carved into into a Nightmare.

Cry shook the memory away as he made his way forward, obviously lacking the muscle this beast held, rather than height. Whereas the irises were ivory, Cry noted, this was clearly not his uncle. 

“Done.” Cry hadn’t had a plan of what to do should this not be his old mentor, but when it came to being a trained murderer, even the lack of plan birthed a plan. “Apologies for my stealth,” he began. “I had thought you were someone had a contract out for.” 

He lied. Well, the only sector of the lie was the contract bit- he wanted to kill Slade out of vengeance, not payment. But how would this beast take it? 

A nod solidified the claim. Well, that was a trash term for it, and rather crude. “Mercenaries usually go in bands. I work alone.” That enough should prove his skill in murder. 

Many had been brutes who were supposedly indominable. Much like his company here. But this one was safe. However, glacials drifted to the hulking shoulder that bore quite a dutiful story. If there was anything Cry understood, it was scars. “You with Blackfeather?” the Phantom asked.

The brute hadn’t answered his question. That irked him. But the crack in the iceberg remained hidden under a calm sculpture. He was kind enough to answer the question back though. “Enough.” Even if it wasn’t as much as one expected. He had given this beast enough info. Should he catch up with Slade, or even be on bad terms with Blackfeather, maybe this dude could give the old timer a run for his life. Or atleast end it. But Slade had fought bears, had experience enough to kill one. 
Could this dude be capable?

Shit. It wasn’t the irritation that set Cry off- no, the man could drown in the Voidwith him and his little vex. No, what threw off the Phantom was the man’s title. And Cry had flashed too much of his card to the man. His tone wasn’t kind nor had he described his knowledge. He kept things close to him until he knew who was on who’s side-
would this guy come after him should he find Cry attempting to kill one of the ex members of his pack?

Well nothing spoke louder than honesty. Either do or die.

”Slade.” Assassins never spoke the name on a contract lest it was with the dealer- considering he himself was the dealer, no one should have known. But how this man talked of his own old pack, Cry pushed his own embranded standards down a bit. “I was almost inducted, but I chose not to.” It was true; Slade had brought Cry into the forest repeatedly and showed him enough to make him near one of them. He was taught some of the packs doctrines and religions, but he hadn’t been christened with the mark of the Brotherhood, as he wasn’t one of them.

“FUCK.” The heated curse flew out oh his mouth, the only speck of anything showing he had feelings invested in this. Had somebody gotten to him before him? 

A groan with a flash of dark auds swiveling to face his rear. “You’re lucky that’s all you got outta that fucker.” Though Slade had saved Cry’s life from that bear year’s ago, Cry had come to realize it was so the manipulative bastard could use him all over again. For him to have Cry feel the need, the obligation to owe him his life for that. In the Nightmares, should your life be pulled from the gravity of the Void, whoever saved you, you owed them a lifelong favor back. 
Slade knew his time was coming - 

thats why he had expected Cry to follow him around, and take his place in Shadewood. 

But he wouldn’t spill his life story to this man. He could only respect that vendetta that his family had for that man. His own mentor- a fucking mastermind till the day he vanished from everybody’s radars. 

He had had to be dead by now. 

In the end, the King of Nightmares had gotten the last laugh. Robbed Cry clean, and didn’t even give him the reward of the kill he Knew his ‘nephew’ deserved. 

If he could’ve, Cry would have rubbed his temples. He wasn’t prepared for this kind of news, but as all Assassins were, he had to atleast seem prepared. Andin a way, he possible had this plan set aside, all along.

”Got someone to go collect, then gonna make plans to camp out in Shadewood. Gonna figure out where to go from there.” There was no point in hiding it. His debt to Slade was over, apparently. And though he didn’t have a confirmed kill, he felt as though his search was either going to lead to a dead end or a dead body, either way. And Gwen...he had to make sure she was safe. He hadn’t seen Raziel since the dispersement of the Noctistador Bypass, and he was slightly jarred about the loss of a slightly closer associate. But most emportantly, he was concerned for Gwen. Something much more special was holding him to her, and the shadowy male was stuck in a limbo trying to figure out what it was.

”Where you taking this Bloodline of yours?”

"I'll keep it in mind," Cry gave the mass of muscle and omen. "Scratch eachother's backs from now on atleast, eh?" There was no point in making enemies. Winter was coming, and soon everyone would be at winter's mercy. Alliances would probably be either called upon, or broken for something as pitiful as robbing food caches or abandoning the pack. Much was capable of contributing to the fall of a pack, and Cry had seen it too many times, had been a part of too much hardships to not know what watching a forged family fall apart looked like. It was pathetic. But alas, he was unbowed. This peace offering was in hopes that they would band together and make use of their talents rather than their cabaility to murder. 

“All the way west” was all he could really offer, other than “it’s a huge jungle-like forest.” With the final inhale, Cry took what last bit he could of this unknown male. He didn’t know the Man's name, but it was fine. He knew the company by smell and by location. Should they cross paths again, they could contact each other - Killers always knew how to get in contact with each other.