Deepwood Weald to cut away the mountains i've made

Marruz was silent today. No, not silent. Pensive. Philosphical, even, though the boy might find that much too indicting. But to the world outside his sable shell, he appeared a wraith upon the land. His spindly legs swung threads within the brume, weaving paths upon the clouded vapors that swallowed at his tail and closed back to constancy. Marruz moved with the usual dexterity and enterprise that cost him such social discord, for his haste often rendered a waspish nature.

For all his purpose, there was really no destination in sight. He simply always felt a need to wander these days; it was an urge that ran like icy fingers upon his skin. His thoughts were elsewhere - upon his brothers some of the time and, in rare instances, upon his mother. Never, however, did he wish to recall his father. Yet that would persist within him - within who he was - no matter how much Marruz ignored it.

That was, evidently, the primary impetus behind his spurring habit. There was freedom in the Weald, somehow. He felt it with every breath that tugged from his lips; with every glance at those grand, lofted conifers. At times he could imagine that he and the trees truly hung from the earth's surface, upside down and attached by mere will. And the thought was so ridiculous it brought a gleam - a genuine gleam - to the youth's incongruous eyes.

Wandering as he always had been, it was nothing new to Moath. He always wandered, no matter where he was. However, his Mother had told him this was where to be, where he was to remain. Where Family was. The man couldn't decide whether it was okay to be where Family was with the urges he was seemingly made of. But if there was nothing but Family here, then those urges shouldn't come...right?

Moath didn't understand how his own mind worked, but it didn't mean much to him. He didn't often make an effort to understand anything. He simply existed. He lived life as it came to him, following whatever pulls and pushes came to be as they did. On this frigid time of this slow hour, Moath did just that, drifting where the wind seemingly pulled him. But through the gusts, the Killer had been snagged by a thread, caught as the scent bound him and began to tug. So with such incline, the gigantuan followed the pull, his near imperceptible dark amethysts glinting their awareness in the barest of lights.

The Melonii was a bit less haggard today; Mother had cleaned him up as she had the aimless man follow her through a rushing creek. She was small, but she held her own through the harsh waters, and Moath didn't need to bring her to safety. So as he continued his follow of the thread, he began to pull what little information he could from the scent until the maker of the thread loomed just before him in the Weald.

Marruz was buzzing along without much hindrance; had been for most of the day. The light that struck through the bristled limbs seemed to illuminate his path, urging him along. All the while, he was the acute boy his parentage had instructed him to be - always cautious and always aware. He had to be, even in woods infested by his own blood. It was, after all, no different.

The stripling became aware of his visitor a few minutes before he decided to let it on, seeing as there was no real threat. Should trouble be intended, surely it would have been executed by now, right? The darkling really was not in the mood for social interaction, anyway, and he tried his best to keep at a brisk gait.

Marruz heard the large paws of his trailer and figured it might be best to avoid him, or at least, that would be his excuse for this instance. So, he promptly swerved through the Weald's dense undergrowth, making an intricate loop through the slender trees. Maybe if he was lucky he could lose the brute in the grove... or, even better, he could turn the tides and pursue him.

Moath had watched with his void stare the silhouette swerve into the next tidepool of darkness. Even more, the ebony of the matching hide did well to elude Moath the oppertunity to track with eyes, alone. Thus lowering his massive dome back to the ground, the brute kept following the thread while it released more and more length unto him. He gave his attention to the trail, smaller pawprints becoming more obvious to him as it tied him through the Weald. Was this a cousin? A brother? A grandparent? Another Son? This was a lot more than just a simple goosechase, it seemed...Moath was strung on by the growing thrum f who this could be, and how they might be related to him.

His curiosity kept his pace light, though the wallow of his body slowed as he became aware that the company whom he stalked knew he was behind them. It was almost a letdown to some hidden part of him as he watched the steps fade from irregular to a steady beat, a straight but winding ideal of pawprints writing through the royal timbers. He had no urge to kill this unknown Blood of his...or, well, their's, really.

Auds followed the hush of whispering pads over crisp land as nares kept with the thread. But Moath wondered why the target was fleeing. What had he done wrong?

Marruz didn't have compassion. He didn't care for sympathy all that much and he certainly didn't believe in dishing it out. But he was new among the Melonii and he knew that it would be important to familiarize himself with his... allies? Packmates? Kin? The thought needled irriation just beneath his fur; like ants but with cold, sharpened legs.

Just before he ducked behind a drapery of moss and foliage, he planted his paws hard on the ground. The abrupt halt was all the momentum he needed to pivot on his feet, swinging splenetically to cast his withering indigo and ebony gaze upon this lumbering nuisance.

"What?" his voice, though taut with frustration, betrayed his youth. "Do you need something or should I just keep walking until I lead you off a cliff?"

Moath stalked forward a bit more until the youth had hidden well enough behind the draped and frosted vegetation. He had stopped, planning to follow even more until the smaller make whirled on him. So he stopped.

Heated words came spilling forth in a scalding spew against the unmoved giant, those angsty irises seeming to try to burn a hole in the void man where he stood. Moath didn’t exactly know what to do, or what to say, as he would really say or do anything other than stand there and inquire of the family member. It seemed near all of them looked the same, and while he had no issue with looks, or issues at all, he didn’t know who this young one was related to.

But whether he knew new or not, he couldn’t touch this child. He was one of the Family, and he could not harm family .

So as the second ticked by tersely, Moath simply stood there, looking down at the mirror youth. Ever so slightly however, his head began to tilt, genuinely slow. He was analyzing this kid, trying to figure who it looked like, the most.

How odd. That was all Marruz could think of the behemoth; all his thoughts could lump together amidst the seizing sensation that he was yet to become but a grain of himself — smushed til only a strand of fur remained. Indigo eye searched the fellow callously, both veiled and deadly astute. It appeared to the boy that this relative identified with the peculiarities of the Melonii, what with being mute and all.

The notion irritated him greatly. There passed a moment in which, shadowed by the man and his lethargically tilting cranium, the youth could only emit a long, weary sigh. He watched the man all the while, and there was never evidence of the curiosity that simmered just beneath his stolid frame.

"What?" Marruz couldn't help but snap, though his timbre, less feral now, had softened. His grey glove prickled hotly against the cool earth beneath. "Is it the marking? The eye?" For this had become an experiment, and Marruz decided he would venture to discover the different modes of this newfound packmate. The first step would be to make sure his words were not just mush. And in his mind, he figured, surely the man could just nod.

The words skittered through Moath’s auds with tickling metallic clicks, slightly sticky as they left a trail of viscous dripping webs in his mind. But he dared not tread on them, having no need to entangle in an argument over looks or even trying to explain his ‘fascination’. This the trap remained untouched-
and he remained silent. But he hadn’t gotten much motive to leave this conversation, whether it was one-sided or not.

But what could he give this child? “No.” The response reared out from the thick throat of the brute, just as grotesque in texture as someone who clearly spoke near nothing for all of eternity, as though it were some sickly sin for him to use speech, at all. Angels would scream and shiver from what was his voice, damning it as a unnatural entity all on its own.

But that was all he had chance to give to Marruz, as his breath held him from speaking further. He had nothing else to say.
Nothing at all.

Righting his dome back to where it was mean to be, he had finished his analytics, being ready to simply exist as plain as the field they stood in, yet again.

Marruz was amazed by the odd tune that met his ears. Indeed, the fact that any audible response had even been offered was enough to cast a sharp, curious gleam across his usually impassive orbs. He wondered, in that bleak moment of surprise, just how long it had been since the brute had uttered even a sound.

His features visibly softened — a remarkable feat for the boy and an unusual one at that. He narrowed his eyes, furrowed his brow. Something about him twitched for a millisecond, and then there was the shadow once more. Just a shadow.

Marruz parted his maw in a capricious manner, uncertain how to proceed but not willing to let it be known to outer beings. The ravine between forehead and eyebrow deepened in yet a harder furrow. And then, he smiled. The boy actually smiled. For once, his handsome endowment met a position it could fulfill. It was odd in that it was so natural for the darkling; it was so effortless. And somewhere deep within that smile, there was genuity for once. Somehow, he just couldn't help himself. The brick wall had broken, it seemed, for a moment. He had not smiled in too long. He hated it.

"Good."

The silence between them had deepened as the boy unearth a smile from a battered crypt that Moath had no idea wasn’t meant to be opened, let alone freed. But it was there- and the giant knew not whether to leave now or stay. But he stayed. He had nothing else to do but wander, regardless. His Mother has gone off to intermingle with more of the Family, and this Moath had no incentive. In Home, there was no one to kill, as they were all Blood. Family.

In a place where he was meant to be, the murderer had nowhere to go.

So in all retrospect, all he could do was follow Marruz around. The mountain of carnage sat before the youth, almost expecting something in those near imperceptible eyes.
What would they get into, together?

Marruz couldn't shake the rock. Indeed, it wouldn't budge. And it seemed that, no matter how much the brute perturbed him, the boy was slightly reminded of his brother in an antithetical way. So he just kept walking and, occassionally, he'd glance back to see if the fellow was there. It was odd because this stranger clearly had no grasp for social norms. He was tied to the world from a completely different perspective.

That's when genius struck Marruz. With such a curious creature at his disposal, why not learn a few things? Have a bit of fun? Yes, it was time that he indulged his mischevious yearnings at least for a moment. It wouldn't be anything bad, after all. He couldn't bring himself to blatantly hurt the vile thing... Not yet, at least.

Slightly irritated and slightly intrigued, Marruz halted in a similar manner as before, but this time he rammed his head at the beast of a wolf; reminescent of a billy goat as he thrust his ears against a meaty shoulder. He recoiled quickly and lowered himself to a stance akin to that of a playbow, tail wagging despite himself. It was something the darkling had never done before — playing — and it looked quite foreign upon the youth's shadow.

So he committed to it. He followed the smaller wolf around, one step at a time, until the youth tried to jam himself into Moath. This perplexed the mound of muscle, and while he couldn’t comprehend what the youth was thinking in this instance, one thing Moath did understand was eating. Was Marruz trying to get inside of him?

The murderer watched him a second more, trying to figure the best way to ingest him. Shoulder first? The youngling got low, seeming to offer his head first, as it was the highest thing that was closest to him. While Moath wouldn’t actively hurt Marruz, his misunderstanding was obvious, as he opted to opening wide hellbourne jowls and gently trying to slowly fit the top of Ruzzy’s head in there.

He would eat him softly. If that was what he wanted?

The first thought that entered Marruz's mind when the canyon that was Moath's jaws split open was, oh, shit, I'm going in. And then, oh, hell no. This is not how it's going down. And finally, Meldresi... Why have you forsaken me?

He pinned his ears back, closed his eyes real tight for a moment, and... waited... and... waited... and, finally, one eye opened. And the monster was literally angling himself. It was like an alligator attack but in slow motion. And Marruz only watched at that point; astonished and ashamed for the brute, but also a bit flattered that he was an appetizing guy.

When he realized the IQ of the fella going anaconda-style, Marruz emit a low growl and — damn those fangs are huuuuge — he capered nimbly out of reach. As much as he liked toying with the big, mountain of death, he figured it was time to quit while he was ahead. Quietly, he slipped into the shadows; morphing into the pool of darkness with little more than a small huff of carbon for goodbye.

Moath had only just begin to feel his rancid breath heatedly return back on reflect to his throat, the top fur of Marruz’s head heating up to the gaping hell abyss of his gullet. But then, cold air returned. The dark king had ducked, a suave feint and avoided being inhaled. Good. Because Moath would have felt wrong should he eat Family.

But Marruz had gone- trying to leave the brute by his lonesome.

But sluggishly the behemoth followed, staying on the scent trail as good as he could.