King Elk Forest the prisoner's throne

ingram returns the way he left: an ouroboros given flesh, finally able to complete the circle and swallow his own tail.

nothing about the king elk forest has changed since he departed it so long ago: months, maybe. but time was a fickle mistress and while on the surface it could appear as if nothing changed, everything could've changed.

the hellhound draws in a breath, tasting the air and shrugs through the foliage.

yeah whatever lemme ruin my girls timeline lol, hope u dont mind me

the queen looks over the edge of her plateau and spies a stranger. a handsome one, a strong one. exactly what she needed. though she stood on neutral ground, she sat upon it like she owned the entirety of tuktu.

hello, traveler. the wraith speaks through the mist of the hinterlands.

not at all! thanks for joining! <3

a voice calls to him thru the mist and after a breadth of a moment of consideration, ingram's steps halt. scarred muzzle lifts: scenting the air; oceanic gaze scouring the landscape for the owner of the voice.

though, it would not be so unusual if the voice was given no corporeal body to accompany it ( though it was not a spirit voice he recognized ).

hello, the hellhound parrots out of his own curiosity in stead of being socially polite.

she stood in neutral ground, even if soon the ground the man walks on would someday belong to one of her children, so she remained casual. if he were any closer, perhaps then she would question him more firmly.

up here. she guides. have you come from beyond the wilds? she tilts her head, hoping to catch a better view of him.

sea glass gaze follows her voice to rest upon the spectre colored woman; as pale as the moon as he was dark as the starless, moonless night. the hellhound's weight shifts, confidence allowing him to drop the slight prickle of his hackles.

relief follows that she is not a voice he'd been trying to hard to quiet these past few months ( with no success ).

beyond these wilds, beyond this world. i have been many places.

ingram does not add that he'd been born in these wilds: his reputation tended to proceed him ... though he strayed far enough from the places he'd once haunted like a bad omen that it might not have reached here.

such lofty words get a lifted brow as reyna's response. she gave an amused hum, watching as tension leaves his hackles. men were easy, sometimes, the sight of a pretty face is enough to get them comfortable.

do you come as a spirit then? or even beyond that — a god? like a crane, her head leaned in to lay just between her paws. even if he wasn't, as there was only room for one god, the man looked to be sculpted by one.

divinity still clings to ingram: plaguing and shadow steeped as it was. tendrils of dreadfather remain deeply rooted, to be severed only when death came for him — and only because sithis would claim his soul for the shadow realm.

it was the price of the blood pact, after all.

but unlike when he was younger, ingram does not need to boast of it.

i am no phantom, a hellhound was very corporeal, after all. i am called ingram.

i am reyna. she returns her name almost immediately, lifting her head.

tell me, if you wish. what has brought you back to the wilds if you have been here before? why not to another world? though she knows the answer — home. why else return when there were so many other options. and the wilds are a fine place to call home. at the end of the day all wolves seek a place to rest their head.

she hopes, then, that his home would be in her kingdom. though, she hoped that for most lone wolves that cross her line of sight.

the questions she asks are personal despite that their answers are not so much. it wasn't ex loves or bounties dangling over his head nor anything of the sort that had kick started his departure: simply, a calling deep in the marrow of his bones.

and he had listened.

the pull had ebbed and so, he returned.

sometimes a man must leave the place he has called home once in a while.

a simple answer for a simple cause.

their conversation had turned into a game of cat and mouse for the queen, who continues to search carefully for her words.

but eventually he must return to it, or else he can no longer call it home. women, too, leave home. that is what i did, but it was to find a new place to call home.

is that what you wish to do?