Rising Sun Valley i've got a river running right into you

ingram moved thru the valley like the shadow of death; a grim reaper given flesh and bone.

how ironic, considering the constant shadowing of the thespian twins. usually lingering somewhere in his peripheral; smoky, ghastly wisps that only take the illusion of flesh and bone when he focuses upon them.

he tries not to focus on them.

but their insistent chattering is like a hammer against his skull.

will you two shut up?! he rounds quick on the ghosts that only he can see with a growl and a snap of his teeth. tragedy takes her leave with a scowl that lingers like the scrape of teeth against his ribs.

comedy lingers with a giggle.

why're you so snippy, mr. grumpy pants?

ingram does not degnin to answer, turning from her to scowl like her sister at the tall grasses, at the shadows of the clouds as they skirt across the sky to block the sun.

huh? huh? HUH?

ingram grits his teeth tightly and keeps walking, hoping that one day he might be able to outpace her.

In the distance, Ameline crouched to hear the man’s voice ring out.

She had found his scent, and it had tugged at her like a fishing hook snagged in its own line. There was something familiar about it, that evoked images of hunting, of the raid, of Nyra- 

Of a time in her life when she had been wild, careless. 

She pursued the scent, creeping forward half worried that she might be stalking a memory that might be better off forgotten. It was only when his voice cut across the Valley that she remembered. 

They’d met once- she on the cusp of adulthood, flirting with danger and him…Hadn’t he been the ruler of a pack? Something about his demeanour had caused her to balk in her plans and fickle promises and abandon him completely. 

But here she was- Regina, wedded, and a mother. An opportunist, however, as always. 

She strode forward, and found herself smiling in spite of herself when she caught sight of him. She sniffed, and exhaled softly. I remembuh you.

thalia is a constant shadow. ingram does not ever outpace her. most times, it is both sisters. but if not both it is always at least one. their companionship was sudden and permanent. it brings to mind the dreadfather's tendrils still living and breathing within his soul.

a woman approaches, draped in a pelage of chocolate browns and blondes. she speaks of remembering him with a lisp that brings with it some semblance of familiarity. it tugs at the corners of his mind but remains out of reach.

out of the corner of his eye, he watches the ghost of comedy tilt her head.

ooh, she's pretty! who is she?

but ingram cannot call to mind a name. there is familiarity there but not enough to place it. but his mind has been a battleground for so long, names and places and memories buried under ash.

he knows he has many enemies however, though the soft smile upon the woman's lips tells him that she is not one such wolf.

how unfortunate for you. murmurs the reaper, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips in response to his own jab at himself. however self-depreciating his partial jest might've been, there was a very real part of ingram that meant it.

Sarcasm. All she could really expect from the man who had once called himself the Dreadfather. He smelled of wilderness, not of other wolves; Basilica had fallen, she guessed. She recalled the name, but chose not to target that point.

I wath right, by the way, She said. She didn’t expect him to remember exactly what she was referring to, so she drew closer and continued. You thuggethted that I rithe up an’ take oh the pack. An’ I told you they wath all related an’ that they’d tuhn on me, She said.

It ain’t ekthactly what happened, but not far off. She said. They cared more about blood rathuh than true thtrength. It’ll bite ‘em in the ath thomeday. She said.

She paused. Yuh alone now?

oh, the ghost of comedy fades into existence behind the woman and ingram's gaze follows one half of his theatrical haunting duo as she studies ameline. she's the braggin' type. she hums in a 'i see' manner.

it takes all of ingram's self control to not snap his teeth and huff at the ghastly apparition.

well who'da thunk? darkdaddy gave someone bad advice. thalia giggles and ingram's ear flickers as if she were a fly annoying him.

trying to juggle both thalia, of whom demands attention when she speaks, and ameline's words takes a great amount of effort so that he did not react to the apparition in stead of the actual woman before him.

a soft contemplative noise is given. you weighed whether the risk was worth taking. you wouldn't have known if you wouldn't have tried. still not the greatest advice there ever was but it was one of the small facets of how ingram chose to see the world. even if he wasn't exactly sure if his version of the world was the same as everyone else's. the presence of comedy and tragedy tell him that it wasn't.

he isn't sure how to answer her question for he wasn't exactly alone. not with the dreadfather still rooted in his soul and the thespian twins haunting his every step. it was a loaded answer, but he knows what she is asking and it's not about his mental state.

dispersed, yes.