Marruz's slender skeleton surfed in serpentine strides the inky expanse of the Weald; lips parting in gentle purge of unwanted air. His long legs and narrow frame carried him effortlessly through the copse of svelte conifers. The night was stark and appropriately cold, with a biting sort of chill that carried to the bones. When Marruz's indigo and ebony orbs perused what patches of sky dripped between the lofty branches above, he found that the clouds were rather swollen. Soon, no doubt, there would be drifts of frozen rain to accompany him.

He shivered and narrowed his eyes, slowing his pace ever so slightly to cast his thoughts upon the Deepwood and its contents. Marruz was still nearly a stranger to the place, though he had managed to support what he could of the borders. He was constantly made aware that the Melonii were still in formation, and it dimly sparked his conciousness that he had been the first of his brothers to find them. He, lanky Marruz, had managed to do it all alone. And while he was hardly one for celebration, tonight Marruz thought he might have stood twice as tall.

The moment was brief, of course. It was customary for Marruz to be a stubborn boy, and when it came to joy he was certainly never one to dabble in it. His brothers would, after all, be turning up soon... Right? No, no. He wasn't worried for them in the least.

But, his father would have been proud, right?

Marruz didn't often approach people. In fact, he couldn't recall a time at all in which he had introduced himself first. The thought had been preposterous to the inky boy, having been of reclusive nature since birth (no pun intended in regards to his arachnid features as a pup). 

But something about the shade that crossed his path - slinking along the undergrowth - intrigued his vagabond mind; forced his thoughts to settle for the moment upon what possible origins could be discovered. His swift appendages carried him seamlessly in pursuit of the newcomer, slipping with that stealthy stride of his that hardly stirred a hare. The lone grey sock flashed every step or so beneath him, though its faint outline was somewhat concealed by the haste in his gait. 

He followed the female until her scent was upwind, parting his maw to investigate her derivation. Faintly, he detected the vague scent of the Melonii upon her. His heart quickened its pace; overcome by curiosity for the woman. She was older and clearly just as reticent as he, which was yet another perk to the situation. Plus, he could recognize that stride from a mile away: she was avoiding him. Not the other way around this time. The notion made the mischevious side of Marruz all the more eager to confront her.

So, he just grunted loudly and hoped that much would suffice. He straightened in anticipation of her turning to face him; indigo and black orbs indiscernible but perhaps glinting a shade of inquisitiveness in the mirky gloom of the Weald.

Marruz blinked. There passed a moment in which the only true stir was the gentle swirl of carbon from the tenebrous stripling's porous nose. His crepuscular flanks rose at the bidding of rib and lung alone.

He was unconcerned with the beldam's words, and such sentiment was starkly visible in his resolute posture. Words drifted across Marruz's mind; words that formed the many questions this broad provoked. Beneath that gaze, he knew there was a cold, darkness. Perhaps a hex of his father's relations. Thus, he could not say that her reaction was far from what he had been anticpating. 

"Really?" his voice dripped with scorn and the unintended bane of youth's mellow undertone. "They have done far worse things." Indigo eye narrowed. "Yourself included, I'm sure." 

Marruz couldn't decide whether he was enjoying or abhorring this mirror of a wolf. Nevertheless, he was not swift to move when the she pivoted once more to oppose him. His gaze was all the while trained resiliently upon the woman's shadowed skeleton.

Her words sounded as valuable as bluffs to the juvenile, who in turn only further furrowed his intense, Stygian brow. There was a lapse in his features that coincided impeccably with that of his father's, but it was lost amidst finer details — the grey sock and the pitchy void of a single eye. 

"Well we must be family," Marruz pointed out with a brazen chuff of the piercing, wintry air. His tone was colder, and, still, he did not waver. "You have all the marks of M'aiq in you." And the youth had not spoken such a name but once before.

Marruz was slightly surprised to see how his words affected the woman. Her tone seemed to freeze in the wind. Similar to himself, there was a flurry of tension that gripped her features at the name.

Sure, there was little recognition. It had, after all, been many years that had passed. Yet, the fact that there was anything at all was enough for Marruz. And maybe it comforted him, also, to think that she would differ from being likened to his father. 

Marruz did not respond this time. He only tugged his long appendages into swift strides, crossing the clearing to close the lengthening gap between them. When he reached her side - an easy venture considering his boyish agility - his tall, slender form cast a faint shadow upon the choleric lady. 

"Do you see him in me?" his voice, upon a rare instance, tremored. "At all?" 

Marruz noticed the woman's snarl. Part of him hoped she would take the impulse; indulge her wonting fangs. It would have made the boy feel all the more better as he stood there, intentionally violating the unwritten laws of social conduct. 

The boy's height was imposed by the thick tufting of his sable cloak. He drew his snout so close that he almost felt her lashes on his nose. The muscles of his jaw clenched and unclenched. And the air — it felt so suffocating.

Within an instant, the turmoil relented. His shoulders lowered and his lungs began stuffing themselves with uncomfortably frozen oxygen. Marruz did not retreat, however. He only closed his eyes.

"Ziry iksos tetan," he murmured, half to himself if not for the intimate space. It is finished. He repeated the words of his mother often — he could not forgive himself if he did not. And it helped to pacify the hatred; the ire that further stained his black heart.

Marruz had seen it — that subtle flash of something within those indigo pools. Perhaps it was hatred or even fear. It mattered not to the boy, who only lifted his crown as she cowered beneath his muzzle; impervious to what little threat her words offered.

Slowly, he complied. His lithe limbs waded through the air as though against a current, stiff and unusually difficult for the agile youth as he gave his victim space. He didn't understand what had just transpired, nor whether it would happen again. For some reason, despite the coldness in his chest, he felt that he loathed this particular impulse. All he knew for certain was that she had understood him. And so when he spoke next, it was with a softened tone; a rare instance for the bitter darkling.

"Where did you learn to speak that language?" Marruz allowed his gaze to lock steadily upon the woman. His one black eye had, it seemed by some trick of the light, darkened. 

Marruz nodded pensively; relaxed his furrowed brow. His indigo orb - and, of course, the black if it could be seen - cast a taciturn glow on the frail creature before him. Once again, as though a staple in his conversational diet, silence enveloped the boy.

When a sufficient amount of time had passed, in which his thoughts swarmed within the moment's languor, he parted his lips with discernible lassitude. "Indeed," and he lifted the forepaw sheathed faintly in grey, so that as he stood there he examined it with particular scrutiny. "You must know quite a lot. What do they call you around here?" 

Marruz felt her gaze and he did not shrink beneath it. Nor did he lower his blemished ankle. Instead, he only further adjusted his stature; pulling his lean and robust body against the sag of gravity so that his height combined with the broad expanse of his shoulders seemed to unravel with every breath. Just as the trees, he was a strange boy — skinny as their trunks and unusually tall like them, too. It made him an arachnid sight. 

Her name was fitting, he believed, though when were names truly not? He wondered whether his own was suitable.

"My name is Marruz," he responded, this time with less delay. He usually tried not to exchange names with complete strangers, but the woman was certainly no stranger now. She was a Melonii and that qualified at least somewhat for the dispassionate youth.

He allowed the words to hang there for a moment before he pressed in that darkly enigmatic way of his, "Do you have a lot to hide, Moira?" And his indigo orb grew especially intent.

Marruz tilted his cranium at the woman's comment to his name. It was odd that he had never taken notice of it truly until that moment. Her smirk added to the peculiar sheen that had settled upon the exchange.

"Only those who do not have enough to start with have nothing to hide," he responded, half to himself as he ruminated. His tone matched the flavor of the scene; delphic and portentous.

The darkling dipped his head to the woman. "That, or we are all just bluffing," and a wry chuckle escaped his lips; didn't meet his eyes. He was rather robotic, this one.

Yes, the boy was young. But he could tell the meaning behind those words clearer than any old wiseacre three times his age. So he just nodded; nodded and closed his eyes. Imagined he was standing beside someone he had known for a long while. Maybe someone he could trust?

And how ironic, he realized, this was. That they would speak about bluffing and deception whilst he tried to make out exact opposites of the matter. He had to cast such thoughts away. He insisted — they were dangerous.

"I believe it's fair to say we like to bluff a lot more to ourselves than to others," and he opened his eyes again. Peered around curiously. "Would you agree?"

Marruz always had a place to be. That is, he always had a place in mind. So, while her question was perceptibly abrupt, he couldn't blame the woman for shutting him out so soon. He was, after all, of similar roots.

His own gaze mirrored her odd flash of the eye. He wanted to say, what makes you think so? but, upon swift recalculation, he decided instead a on a terse, "Always." For, despite his meager collection of months upon the earth, the boy was knowledgeable enough to take his cue.

"I'll be going then," and he was just as short in departure as in his own idiolect.