The Heartwood i'm a ghost of you, you're a ghost of me
stormblessed
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#1
All Welcome 
@Mou maybe?


The woods creaked and moaned with the touch of the wind. Something about it was haunting – unfamiliar – and left the titan with a feeling of longing. It was as though a portion of him belonged there, but he did not know that part of himself. However foreign that feeling was, Ford found it to be what pushed him further into the tangle of woodland. The chilling nip of an upcoming winter was what tugged against the jagged tendrils of his lengthy coat. The hair on his shoulders and neck seemed to sway with the lightest of brushes. He paid little mind; it was all a natural reaction.

Birds whispered overhead, sending their voices across the boughs of the trees where they perched. Ford glanced up to them once and gathered the distinct scent of the woods through his nostrils, flared at the touch of the chilling breeze. As if to urge him on, the wind picked up and rattled through the changing leaves. A flurry of orange and yellow seemed to spiral around him – a natural phenomenon. Against the dark coat of the inkhound, it looked as though a spell had been cast in the wild wood. He listened, but heard only the sound of the forest creaking against the seasonal change.
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After his meeting with Relmyna and the altar, things hadn't really changed. Sure, he had two eyes — but the darkness persisted. It felt strange to finally have something wedged in there, as if a piece of him which he thought had been lost was finally replaced. He could carry Blackfeather Woods with him now; Sithis was with him in more than just spirit, it felt like. It would take some getting used to but Mou was feeling at peace. Save for the occasional irritation of the foreign object and the way his body had started to fight it, things were going well.

He thought he was well enough to venture out of the woods again, this time branching further, as if to tempt fate. To test if Sithis would speak to him now that he'd given himself over to his influence. Mou wasn't sure how much of it he believed, but he had seen many things since arriving to the dark wood — experienced many things because of the poppies — and he was ready to believe.

The forest he found was different from Blackfeather Woods; it seemed more spacious. The fog he had become accustomed to did not drift here, the spirits did not linger. It felt empty, and as Mou crossed through the southern border of the territory he felt incredibly out of place. A brisk wind picked up through the treetops he closed his eyes to listen as intently as he could, but there were no voices there; when he opened them, he saw a pale figure beyond an eddie of leaf-litter.
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The pale figure was more than what he appeared to be. Those pale portions of him were only the markings along his ribs and the mask that painted his face. What Mou saw was the intent features of a titan staring directly at him. Through the tumbling foliage, he had seen the flash of something pale from beyond. The inkhound was not particularly fond of being approached while he was unaware. Instead of allowing the stranger to close space between them, Ford had met him first with a fierce mismatched gaze set on a black and white canvas.

“You should be careful,” the titan warned in a tone that carried no hint of threat – he was careful of that. “If you move that quietly through the woods, someone will think you're sneaking up on them.” The smoky baritone of his voice struck the air with a hint of authority. It was natural for him to take such a tone. Ford held his ground firmly while he waited for the other wolf to make a move. The tip of his tail swayed from left to right once.
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That's right; if he focused his attention he could make out the rest of that white-shape, and it wasn't defined. He watched the stranger for a long moment before the darkness finally made sense to his eye, and he saw that they were different from his first glance. Perhaps the stranger was accustomed to the staring because he commented on it swiftly enough, his voice commanding but young. Mou would've been more nervous on any other day, but the boy was feeling bold. Sithis was always with him now — the god would never let harm come to him without good reason.

Sorry, he mouthed. It hadn't been his intention to sneak up on anyone. Mou couldn't help it — and maybe his lack of a voice would be explanation enough as to why he was slipping through the trees like a ghost. Either way — the stranger seemed as if they belonged here among the orange and the red, an ominous presence that manifested for the season, or something. He wondered if this was his home, but didn't ask. A part of Mou knew, somehow, that the raggedy boy was too sharp and wild to be a creature of the wood; Mou was reminded of Seelie of all people, and that made his heart hurt.
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There was a word that was mouthed but no sound came out. Though his interest had been touched with this, Ford did not allow it to reflect in his features. He remained as straight-faced as ever. In light of this, though, the titan moved to draw closer to the pale stranger. Each step brought a new feature into view; the boy was damaged. Though he had done well to create a socially charming facade for himself, the titan was also entirely direct.

“You bite that off, or did someone take it from you?” the inkhound inquired with a careful canting of his crown. He was – of course – referring to the tongue that he assumed to be missing. Surely, most wolves did not opt to mouth their apologies if they were capable of speaking them. Noting that the boy's eye had been brutalized and then poorly replaced with something foreign, Ford assumed that he was dabbling in some dark magic... or he was friends with someone who was.
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If nothing else, his lack of a voice was a good ice breaker. He wished that people would stop taking such fascination with it but there was no real way to avoid that — so he took the question as he always did, silent and sullen, and tilted his chin so that the pink scar could be seen. Maybe he should spice things up a bit and make up a reason why he's unable to talk? That would at least entertain him in between greetings; perhaps it would even jostle his memory so that Mou could remember the truth as to why he was a near-mute.

Woke up like this. Spat out of the sea. he explained. It wasn't a lie, it wasn't the whole truth, and it wasn't very creative. Whatever. 

He watched the stranger for some sign of understanding, or emotion. Whichever came first. But he had an inkling that the skeletal creature wasn't going to give him much to work with — so far they seemed quite controlled, which both impressed and unnerved Mou. Do you live here? he mouthed carefully, but to be truthful he wasn't sure he wanted to know where this odd specter called home. If not here, perhaps somewhere more sinister — another plane entirely, such as the Void.
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The explanation that followed was one that did not entirely shock the titan. The sea disliked many things that were sent to it; the pale boy was lucky that he only had his tongue stolen from him instead of his life. That was of very little interest to the inkhound, as he had lived his entire life devoted to the ocean and had never known it to treat him as cruelly as it did others. It wasn't even that he was fortunate; he was intended to be that close with the waters. Almost immediately, he could tell that this tattered and frayed boy was not.

Still, his emotions did not reach the surface of his features. Everything sat quietly beneath a calm mask.

“No, no... I could never exist so far inland,” he answered the question that was presented to him with a purposeful smirk and a shake of his head. Then, he fastened his mismatched gaze on the features of the stranger, unafraid to peer into the singular good eye that remained on the other wolf's face. “I belong to the sea.” To the very thing that spat you out.

“Do you live here?”
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I belong to the sea, the ghost answered. It was not such a shocking discovery. Seelie had lived in close quarters to the sea, and Mou understood the power of it better than most. He wondered if this wolf had come from the island or one similar to it. Maybe he was one of Seelie's friends - which would make him a friend of Mou's, although for now the boy was skeptical. The question was turned back on him and he answered before he had time to think, shaking his head.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to share information about the woods with everyone he encountered; no doubt he would learn this soon (on a trip westward to the caldera in the next few days, in fact). A forest like this one, he explained after a moment, and then after some struggling he pronounced with his actual voice, Blackfeather, but due to his impediment it sounded more like bleakfedder. He was curious of this wolf, but ultimately his nerves won out and instead of asking questions he fell to his familiar, comforting silence.
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It was moderately difficult for him to read through the words that were mouthed. It wasn't a skill that he had been encouraged to pursue on the islands. Still, he was able to do his best to make out bits of the stranger's sentences and piece together the portions that he didn't understand. It seemed that he was not from the forest where they stood, but one that bore similarities. To the seawolf, they were all the same. His mother would have chastised him for that, but he didn't understand the innate need to belong to the wood.

The name wasn't important, and so he didn't really care to understand the poor muddling that had fallen from his mouth. Instead, he nodded his skull and glanced toward the trees that stood beyond him. “You been there long?” Ford then inquired, feeling it was best to ask questions that could be answered with a simple yes, or no. Of course, the swarthy titan did not know what he would have done without his own tongue; it was far too valuable to him.
Call me Mr. Rattlebone
Holy Ghost who haunts your home
They don't know you like I know you
Call me Mr. Rattlebone
I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse
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Mou didn't know how long he had been underground, chased by the terrifying bear and its promises; he didn't know how long he had spent recovering on the isle of Undersea either. There was no reason to track his time spent in any place. He gave a shrug and afterwards, realized he was thinking too hard about it. Fore'ffa. Forever. Blackfeather was his home now and always would be, or so he thought at this moment. Anywhere Maegi went Mou would be sure to follow. But that got him thinking - if this stranger was not at home in forests, if he was from the sea, why was he so far inland?

Why are you here, not there? The sea, I mean. He was curious. The stranger did not seem keen to be inland, and was healthy enough to indicate he wasn't a rogue - or hadn't been one for long. He wasn't looking for a new home as far as Mou could discern so, why was he over here of all places?
stormblessed
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Forever was a long time to belong to a single place. The warhound lifted his brows upward at this response and then nodded his head solemnly. Some were bound to their homes; this was something that he understood better than most. While he would never choose the forest for himself, there were plenty who found that to be their sacred place. His mother had been one of those, and look what had happened to the home she spoke so fondly of. Of all the things, at least the titan knew that his ocean would never burn away.

A question was posed by the boy's mouthing. Ford leaned forward and cupped his ears to ensure that if there were any words, he would not miss them. The sound from the back of the stranger's throat was something like a strangled gurgle, but barely above a whisper. It seemed that he was intrigued as to why the titan would be so far from his preferred environment. Ford created a knowing smile on his painted features and nodded his head.

“Searching for loners who are seeking a home and a calling,” he answered with confidence. The glint in his gaze did not change, but his posture demonstrated that he did not have many concerns about reaching his goal. The lands seemed to be rife with potential; the warhound needed only to weed through them and find the sharpest pieces.
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Well, he was neither a loner nor in search of anything — the forest held everything he could ever want, and for now it was the perfect place for him. He was intrigued by the skull-faced wolf all the same; or maybe intrigue was the wrong word. It was more likely that Mou was intimidated. He spoke of the sea without fear, and tread the wilds as if they held no surprises for him. The boy wished, deep down, that he could be so fearless, so commanding, so confident. He was only ever confident when Maegi was around him.

Good luck, 'den, he slurred, indicating with his lack of conversation that he wasn't after those things — a new home, a calling. Mou wished he could fit in somewhere as well as this man appeared to fit in to the wilderness, but so far fate would allow that. He didn't feel that comfortable in Blackfeather Woods without his companion and he wondered off-handedly as he nodded a farewell to the stranger, if he could ever be as free as this wolf before him. Probably not.
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The peculiar young man mumbled a wish of luck to Ford. The brute nodded his head softly at the woodland wolf, still wondering how he had ended up so mangled. It was probably for the best that he did not know. The beast inside of him was eager for war, and he did not need to know the cruelty of others; it would have fueled him. Instead, he opted to leave the young man to his peace.

Turning, Ford glanced over his shoulder with a furrowed brow.

“Say, what's your name? In case I run into you again...” the titan inquired. It would have been beneficial for him to keep track of those that he crossed paths with. Though the mangled fellow didn't seem as though he had a good grasp on talking with his severed tongue, Ford was not deterred. He lingered in a state of remaining and disappearing, waiting to see if the woodland fellow would respond.
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He wasn't sure why he lingered when the stranger turned, but then it was like two magnets pulling at one another, because neither wolf departed immediately. The skull-wolf turned and addressed him again, and Mou felt the stirrings of anxiety in the pit of his belly. He knew it had been foolish to give out information so freely about the forest, and to name himself - that might've brought danger a bit too close to them. So he lied, and let the familiar name of Peregrine, slip from his lips. With another dip of his head, he was slipping away, heading back towards Blackfeather.
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It did not seem to him that the name could have been fake; the great titan had no reason to believe something like that. So, when the strange boy introduced himself as Peregrine, the Mayfair-Cairn nodded his head and turned to depart without offering a calling of his own. If the pale peculiarity was interested, he knew where he could find the haunting wraith. After all, Ford had shared more than enough information for the oddity to find him, and he was not afraid of anything that a mangled mute might bring to his doorstep.