A million thoughts were plaguing Marruz like the beaks of a conspiracy, pecking at his mind and soul. There could be seen, of course, in that lone indigo eye (and the black should one look hard enough) no glimpse of these emotions. He followed lightly as always, swift on his limber appendages and quieter still upon the lush undergrowth of the eery forest.

He was going to meet a true Melonii soon, and the idea was both unnerving and riveting for the boy. In his peripherals, the grey mitten of his left foreleg bounded in and out of sight below him. It seemed to mock him as he pushed forward, nevertheless stoic in this whirlwind of concerns. 

Marruz shook his coat and pushed everything to the back of his mind, deciding his time could be used much more resourcefully on collecting himself. He knew, from what he had experienced, that Damien was the ultimate sovereign. But was he also critical? Ruthless? Did he also have a feathered accomplice? The lissome trees swayed and cracked above, echoing his troubled spirit. And all of this remained tucked deep within, so that as he moved he appeared even more hollow than the Deepwood.

The wolf was large at first glance and, through the gloom, slightly imperial in manner. Marruz straightened so that he stood at maximum spread, feeling obligated despite his clear lack of anything more than true height. His eyes probed the stranger dispassionately; hovering across his features with an austere coolness. 

Despite his taciturn appearance, the dark boy's mind was swift in manner. It took no investigation to surmise that this brute before him was Damien - the one that the girl with the raven had referred to as her mate. And while the brilliance of his ivory gaze was startling enough, what caught Marruz's attention was the intricate patchwork of scars emblazoned within the skin of his left shoulder. He could delineate only the pawprint for certain, though he believed there to be a second symbol just beneath or within.

Throughout this silent interrogation of his, Marruz had neglected motion; standing eerily still as though that of some infernal statue. When the newcomer drew close enough, he only lifted his snout to meet the gentle descent of the snowdrifts.

 "You must be Damien," his voice had recently thickened, but no grasps of youth managed to mask the underlying ice in his tone. Nevertheless, he attempted to play a somewhat cordial act, if only to test the waters.

Marruz's ears perked at the man's words. He was pleased to hear that indeed, he had not commit the imbroglio spawned from such false identifications. What was more — he was the son of the Meldresi Melonii. 

The boy, though raised far from the heartlands of the Melonii heritage, had heard the sacred name only few times prior, but it held no less stark an impact upon the crystal air. Nevertheless, such impressions were void on the phlegmatic darkling's agile frame. Indeed, the most excitable shift across his features rested solely upon the minute twitch of his aforementioned ears. As always, this did not even touch his glassy orbs.

"If you need confirmation, I am a Melonii myself," Marruz's tone retained its habitual spleen. "I'm the second eldest to M'aiq and Missamsi."

He paused to glance upwards; searching for a stretch of the serene beyond. If he could just catch a glimpse of the stars he might find a better answer. For now, however, he only shrugged with a residual sigh.

"I'm not exactly sure why I'm here," he squared his stance with the air of one indifferent to their feeble response. A whorl of ashen carbon dioxide escaped the precipitous sponge of his nose. Marruz never broke his gaze. "But the stars are guiding me. And this is where they have pointed all my life." He did not mention the man who had chased him away — did not even try to hint towards the hell he had fled. There was no trace of the twisted bond he shared with two brothers. Above all, there was not even a glimmer of the phantom pains of his absent youth.

Marruz shrugged, as though indifferent. His eyes were still trained at the stars, but they focused most upon the faint ring that now encircled thhe moon. Rather like a stain upon the dark abyss, Marruz was drawn to the strange phenomenon. When he was much smaller, he could only just recall his mother mentioning the sight. It had been the first time he had ever taken notice of the sky.

He shivered now, for the chill had tangibly strengthened. There was a light drizzle of crystalline dandruff sifting through the air. And Marruz found himself wondering how to percieve the question at hand. Were the stars themselves accomplices? Or was it only his spurious beliefs that made such coincidences seem so intentional? 

"Sometimes I believe so," he finally admit, with a tone almost reverent in audition. Marruz settled his incongruous gaze upon the imposing man, lifting his crown in a resilient manner. "Or, at least, I'm very keen on interpreting them."

He could tell there was something this fellow knew. It made him quick to press, "Do they also speak to you?" 

Marruz tilted his head in a very mechanical and subtle way. Internally, his mind was feasting upon the words; engulfing every detail as it spiralled from the man's lips. Though perceptably a blank canvas, the stripling was amazed by the ease in which the brute professed his childhood surrounded - and no doubt isolated by - mysterious and intriguing figures. Seers and witches... Their very names struck notes of interest within the usually unperturbed youth.

When a vacancy for Listener was mentioned, he straightened his head; blinked evenly across the gloom of the Weald. Marruz had never considered how he might graft himself into the ranks of the Melonii. It had never seemed that he would hold any particular role other than simple presence and contribution to sheer sustenance alone. 

"What function does a "Listener" play?" his voice was somewhat less monotone than before, though he made a great attempt to disguise his piqued emotions. "And what skills are you looking for?"

Marruz, indeed, listened — and very intently at that. Since a mere pup, the boy had engulfed every waking moment of his life living and breathing beneath a celestial canopy. He had to admit that, though his heart was often closed, it would never be so for the Night Mother. 

To think, however, that he could ever "maintain a connection to the grand planes of Oblivion" sounded almost too lavish for the shade. His mind contested with the flow of words, beating each until they morphed into meaning within the bulwark of his skull. He wanted to believe he could do this. So, the indigo and black pools made their subtle way back towards that familiar beacon, the void vault of vantablack purity, the sky at night.

"Then I would like to try," Marruz's words did not come quickly, but they grew louder in the evening stillness. Jaw locked; engaged, disengaged, and fussed. There was a resolution, for once, that gave way in his cryptic features.

'You will make a fine asset to our clan.' 

Those words would follow Marruz for the sequence of years that trailed. Perhaps even to the day of his death. For never had the boy heard such a promising, hopeful statement. It had to have been a lie, and yet Marruz believed that he would much rather this lie be told straight to his face than any figment of truth. At that moment, he was not just walking in the dark. 

The stars seemed brighter now, if that were even possible. They had only done so once before, upon his last night with his siblings just months prior, when he had departed for the Melonii. Yes, he knew, it was a sign of change. A sign of destinations to be reached, perhaps. Hopefully.

And then instruction was mentioned. A guide; a mentor. Someone that would direct him and teach him and explain to him all of the questions that plagued his soul. It was like a blissful melody to the ears of one who was born deaf. So, so deaf.

"As you wish," his voice grew ever the more solemn. Notes of wonder peeked through upon a rare instance of emotion. It was gone within a blink. "I assure you that I withhold a multitude of questions. For now, however, I am content with the answers I have been given." And upon his next breath, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Thank you." How strange it felt upon his tongue. It was so unfamiliar it was almost vile, but he had no way of retracting it now. And for some reason, the finality of the statement was reassuring.