Sleepy Fox Hollow As the crow flies.

The higher sections of the range were oft windswept and frigid, yet he was drawn to them all the same. From such a vantage point he could look out across the lowlands, and one particular angle gave Mou a glimpse of the distant black smudge which he liked to think was Blackfeather; he did not miss the woods despite how strong the evidence was for the contrary, but rather he missed the people that once populated the now ruined home. He was deep in thought - imagining Relmyna, and Ceara, futile though it was.

Soon Mou was leaving behind those thoughts and as he hiked down one of the myriad paths to the rendezvous, he had let them slip completely away from him. He was concerned about other things: food, the deepening snow, his newly returned voice. At some point he knew he had to seek out Maegi and show her; but he worried it was temporary. Some trick by the daedra maybe. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to seek out an herbalist or medic and get a second opinion.

Wylla was no medic or healer, but she did have a lot of opinions, which was surely the same thing. The Pionier was headed back to the pack's heartland from border patrol, and everything about her screamed exhaustion, from the downturn of her sharp muzzle to the weighted drag of her paws. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in the roots of a tree at the edge of the pack's rendezvous and sleep for hours. She'd done a lot of patrolling when she led Grimnismal, but those days were far behind her, and that territory was far smaller.

Sleep was the only thing on her agenda until she spotted Mou across the way. It took a second to place him, but when Wylla recalled that he was that over-serious weirdo who'd been staring into the void through a crack in the wall, glee was quick to follow. Not because she particularly liked Mou—she thought he was a freak—but that was exactly the point. Teasing Mahler was getting old, and Takiyok and Maegi were both poor sports for that sort of thing. Mou, on the other hand, was a perfect target.

So she wasted no time heading toward him, calling out a chipper, I'm surprised you don't melt in the sunlight! Thought maybe you were a vampire or some shit. Whatever hard feelings she'd caused by challenging his authority at their last meeting were forgotten, at least on her end—mostly because she now outranked him, as she felt was proper.

He had tried not to think of the woods too much. It was difficult because of the impossibility of it. Reminding himself not to think of something required him to first consider that something, which meant the abandoned home was not really as far from his mind as he'd have wanted. Maybe he didn't want it. Forgetting about all he had survived, and all he had perpetrated in trying to survive, was outside of his control. He stared at the dark smudge until the whipping wind made his eyes glaze. He sank back upon the path and began to orient himself for the trip back down the hillside.

Mou did not get far before he was intercepted. First it was the voice - not sharp, but exacting. Barbed with the smallest thorns of humor. The woman he recognized partway through her commentary and he had half a mind to leave her there, unwilling to submit himself to her. Protective of what little remained of his own self-worth, maybe. She sounded like she was in good spirits though, which was better than their previous interaction. He watched her carefully.

Thought maybe you were a vampire or some shit. She explained with vulgar clarity. Not far from the truth, he mused.

It was hard to tell what she was after. A rise out of him? He didn't have the spirit. Another fight? Pointless; she carried herself with an easy pride and wasn't being belligerent about it this time, so his primal side was satisfied. Friendship was further from Mou's mind than anything and so he didn't even consider she was after that, leading him to -- nothingness. He had no idea why she would call out to him.

He slunk towards the cast shadow of an oak with his attention (mostly) focused upon her, just in case this was a trick. Vampire? He croaked - quite literally - and then shut his mouth when the awkward squawk of his gnarly voice met his own ears. His returned voice was a blessing, he thought, but did he have to sound like that?

Naturally, the quicksilver Mou appeared to be skeptical of her. She didn't miss the wariness in his eyes as he watched her, nor the way he slunk further from her. The Pionier maintained her distance, but followed after him, keen on a little bit of fun at his expense. Fun was always at someone's expense, wasn't it? Her idea of it was, anyway.

Y'know, she said, a little disbelievingly. Didn't he know what a vampire was? 'I vant to drink your bloooood, gnar gnar gnar.' She chomped her teeth together a few times for good measure, then fixed him with a quizzical smirk. Y'really seem like the kind of guy who skulks around in the shadows. Vampires melt in the sun, you know. It makes you a bit suspicious.

Or was that witches? She couldn't remember and didn't care. Lemme see your fangs, she goaded, dipping her head to search his lips for signs of long, thin ivories for blood sucking purposes.