Eros could feel himself slipping away, slowing dragged under the weight of his memories as they all came flooding back; he could see the face of the woman who birthed him, the woman he vowed to never again refer to as his mother. Her hatred was felt the second he was in her womb no longer—or, perhaps, he may have felt it even before that fateful day. Yet despite the lack of love provided by that woman, the phantom still found himself drawn to the willow trees. This land, despite everything, was home once. It was the first home he could remember having, where he once had a brother and a sister to waste his days away with.

But that was years ago.

“Did you ever know a man named Stark?” he asked, turning his head to face her. “This place belonged to him once.” Although she knew not of Marauder’s Keep, that didn’t necessarily mean she didn’t know of the man that once led it; the pack could have fallen whilst he still remained, loyal to his claim. Although, something told him that he was being naive to assume there may be any real possibility.

Too naive, just like in his youth—it irked him.

“Ignore me, he was from a time long ago,” added the man, shaking his head dismissively. “Tell me about those that came after—the group you spoke of before when I asked about these willows.” A pack he knew nothing of, filled with wolves he never met, living in the place of his birth.

A haven, where festivals were held and those unknown met; it was different from the home he once knew, perhaps more welcoming. Yet, he wondered if that openness may have been the cause of their downfall—he thought to ask, only to hold his tongue, uncertain how delicate of a matter it may be. He believed himself wise to have not questioned her further as the relationship between the bird and former leader was revealed; a midwife to the woman, likely having formed a bond of unbreakable ties. “I did not realise you have children,” he admitted, voice growing apologetic. “I hope I haven’t kept you from them for too long.” Although, if such a great span of time stood between her last visit to the willows and now, he wondered if the children were still dependent on her at all—and the potential for that made his queries bolder.

“What happened to those that you knew?” he asked, curious. Were they now all gone from the wilds, just the same as those he once knew? “If you don’t mind my asking.” He would not force answers out of her—he was in no position to do so, nor was he the type to act so discourteously.

Eros was taken aback by her sudden touch but he did not pull away, although he did avert his gaze to focus on the nearest willow. “These willows were a prison, at first,” he admitted. “The woman who birthed me was not a caring wolf. I believe she hated my siblings and me even before we were born. But…” He could not help but smile, thinking back. “She was the exception. The others were kind, from what I recall. And this place was always beautiful.” Perhaps it was that beauty that lured him back, the desire to see the willows one last time unbearable. One last time…

“Are you offering me a place within your home?” he asked, giving his attention back to her. It was rather forward of her, he noted, but the invitation was not declined. Although his reason for travelling back to those mountains was to find his former home, he knew the second he stepped foot back into the embrace of the willows that it was not where he was meant to remain, not a single ghost lingering to drag him down with them.

A welcome addition. He pondered her words, her invitation—was his presence amongst them truly something acceptable? Was he ready to give himself to another wolf’s land, beneath the rulings of this woman? For so long now, he lived his life as a wanderer without a home, free to come and go as he saw fit. He travelled from one land to the next, meeting those he enjoyed the company of—some he once questioned if he could ever leave the sides of, a devotion to them sneaking up and taking hold of him. Yet, time and time again, the phantom cut ties and continued on his way, leaving with hardly more than a whisper of parting: I’ll see you again soon.

Aging was a curious thing, however. As the years went by, he wondered for how long he might be able to keep up this act; how long could he continue to wander, aimless and purposeless, until it broke him? Perhaps it was time for a change, to allow himself to form roots within a land unknown—perhaps this could be a reason to stay.

“I think I would like to join this vale of yours,” he decided, thoughtful. “I cannot remember when last I felt at home somewhere. I would like to see if your home could become mine, too.” There was little for him to lose, one way or the other.