Damn it, it was cold. Trying to piss in winter was already depressing enough, but when his irritation at his pecker being problematic had come to a halt, Morgan had wondered what had stopped it. But then again, the breeze blew, and smacked the ruffian right in the face, again and again. It was carried into the direction of the woods, and though he was runnin rounds bout the place, the breeze hadn’t been much of a bother to the brute. But here and now, it kept pokin him, insisting somethin was up. 

It snatched his dome and shoved his eyes across the mound before the forest, and in the gleam of the moonlight, there it was. A triad of unknown beasts, all three of em staring right this way. Cry had warned him of his old posse, a natal pack that had somethin ta do with Nightmares or somethin, but he had told of all of them being black. Morgan squinted and tried to decipher all the colors of the staring folk, and couldn’t tell much other than them breathing and staying stock still. 

Knowing it it would be best to let Cry know of these aiming folk, he snuck off and got the attention of the dark posse leader, directing him to look at that group. Once Cry had noticed em, Morgan nodded and whispered in his rough baritones, “imma be back- gonna grab @Laroche to see if he’ll watch perimeters with me. Dunno if they gone be backtrackin or scoutin for weak spots.” And with that, Morgan padded off, keeping his ear aware of what was going on with Cry until he was out of earshot.

After he had been pulled to the front of their woods, Cry had eventually found who had stood before them, thanks to Morgan giving him a forewarning. He nodded appreciatively at the timber sheathed brute, and confirmed his request for backup with a “Please.” He was grateful Morgan knew something could come of this- they had Family to protect.

Once Morgan had left, Cry knew he couldn’t sit around and wait for these wolves to decide what type of debauchery they wanted to spring first, he rather illustrate to them how well these woods were watched. 

Breathtaking glacials pulled forth from from the shadows of the Shadewood Keep’s intimidating void-like threshold as Cry made himself known. A true Phantom, his steps were silent as he brought his inky athletic form to stand tall but inquisitive across the other side of the brink to the riverbank.  Without hesitation nor pause, the ebony ghost greeted the trio. 

“Welcome to Shadewood Keep. Were you all looking for someone?” His artic gaze drifted through his sentence to each of the triad, only to return to the male who stood before both of their escort. A charcoal fellow who looked oddly familiar. Artic gems narrowed at the slate dark fellow, and Cry deduced that these were not members of the Nightmare- this was a wolf he and Gwen had hunted with not too far long ago. They had feared on a caribou together before the dark male had thanked them and bid farewell, taking a nice shank back to his own home. He was a strong one, willing to brave wilderness and other hungry predators alike to feed his family. 

“Issun?” the baritones asked with a slightly incredulous icicle slung through the name. “Seems you fared well.” Or so he thought.

As they neared eachother, an appreciative dip of a crown illustrated how he took Issun’s compliment. He grew in age, but seemingly not looks. Some motto of ‘black never cracking’ flew through his mind over it, but he returned to the situation. 

“Glad you are still traveling- also glad you’ve managed to find us, again. But to travel in a band and stand upon a threshold- I have to ask what brings you?” Peripherals search the two who stand at a tense wire beside the charcoal male, a wood sheathed female who seemed unbreakably attached to him, while the other seemed more of a warrior than any he had come across in a long time. It reminded Cry of an escort mission. But escorting where? We’re they here to bring a message of sorts? 

He was piecing these links together as he stood, inquisition across his usually apathetic face. 

It seemed fate fourtuned just as finicky as when history chose to repeat- yet this time the uncanny fate happened to a friend rather than his own Family. Time and time again in his past, Cry had joined a home only for it to disintegrate just before his eyes. Again and again he was forced to pledge to others, a worker, an advisor, a warden, a source of labor and watchmen. 
Yet it fell apart just as swift as they had allowed him in. 
And he was left standing amidst the ruins, each and every time.

Had it not been for his spite against Slade and his oath to Gwen, how would he have faired? Would he have wandered from home to home, a gateskeeper to the history of fallen Empires, an omen of failed aspirations,  a testament to crumbled bonds. He carried the old leather bounds, and secreted them away in the art library of his mind. He would learn from these frostbitten failures...and he would ensure to not follow through with them. 

But the ordeal remained- could this be a plague that could infect his own? They had come so far, they had built enough of a regard for one another that they were Family. No one could ostracize the other, as they all had shared laughs, smiles, deep secrets with their fellow Keepers- 

could Cry including these ‘failures’ incorporate a sickness within the Keep? It would be a trial, certainly...but should his ideal of the standards uphold in their home, it would be clear who the true Successors would emerge to be,
while the ‘failed ones’ would come clear into Cry’s perceptive view. They would be dealt with once the time arose, should such call for it. He would be fair, liberal, holding meetings with his most trusted over the matters.

But only when such would come to be. For now, glacials softened a slight sliver, a minute crack threatening to emerge from the crisp gaze of the ex-assassin at the plight of he and his Wife’s former hunting mate. “Any friend willing to take down a dangerous prey with respect for not only their life, but our own as well, is already considered Family, here. You’ve proven yourself enough, as it is, Issun.”

Taking a step forward, Raziel gently traced a musky cheek across he and his escort’s shoulders, giving them the keycard to access Shadewood Keep without apprehension by any other Keepers. Returning back to his further  place, the Phantom King gave a slight smile as he spoke the confirmation.

”Welcome home.”

The ebony Watcher stepped aside to allow them passage into the home, his home, their home, should they feel comfortable enough to venture forth. There were plenty within that would have no problem meeting the trio, welcoming them in and showing them around the massive dormant jungle of woods. He would have to seek Issun out once they had gotten established, to talk a bit more intimately through the details, but he would give them time for such to happen. They more than likely had quite enough travelling in their bones, thus food and water would be available to the group.