Blackfeather Woods Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places

It was only just approaching late morning, and Ramsay had already soaked the entirety of Blackfeather Woods' southern edge with urine. He took a short break to rest under the bare canopy at the southwestern point of the forest, peering with hooded eyes at the prairie stretching all the way to the horizon. Far beyond lay misty mountains, but Ramsay hadn't been out that way as far as he could remember.

Rising with an awkward, stiff stretch, the dwarf continued his rounds. He lifted a leg here and there, splashing tree root and tussock and rock alike to spread his scent along the borders. Now that they'd established a presence here and largely cleaned up the macabre reminders of the previous pack, it was time to reinforce the forming pack's claim with proper borders.

Shoves timeline in a blender...

The scent of the stunted man was everywhere, and it was fresh. There would be no mistaking that the woods were inhabited if anyone came looking, which made all of Titmouse's wandering all the more dangerous, and he deeply regretted it. But he was home now - having retreated across the valley until the forest came in to view again, and sank in to the comforting shadows as if they would hide him from scrutiny. It was bad enough he had thought to visit his old birth-home; worse still that he encountered multiple enemies, only to potentially lead them back to the dark wood. It was the last thing he wanted.

But he put that out of his mind as much as he could, and got down to business. As he roamed the border he came upon Ramsey with a leg cocked and ready; he averted his eye after a moment, and got to work in the opposite direction. He made scrapes in the dirt or across the lower sections of exposed tree trunks, although afterwards he realized how difficult they were to see. Useless. He needed to find something more obvious — and began to scour the dirt for an animal trail; anything small could be made to bleed, and that would be sign enough to warn others away.

There was still so much ground to cover, but when Titmouse came into view and then promptly moved off on his own mission, Ramsay's curiosity won out over his duty. There was a lot to do but there was also a lot of time left in the day. He could afford a short detour.

So he spun about and padded quietly after Titmouse, with no doubt he would be noticed in due time. He didn't have his brother's soundless feet to move with. As a boy he often tried to mimic Euron, but he just didn't have the appropriate build or focus for stealth. Experience and age lent him a modicum of skill when it came to moving quietly and sticking to the darkest parts of shadows, but sooner or later Titmouse was likely to realize he was being tailed. The Melonii ought to have just announced himself.

But there was something boyishly fun about following someone and waiting to see when they noticed. Though he was a relatively formal and closed off wolf, Ramsay still retained deep within a boyhood fascination with reactions and it was a call he couldn't often resist.

There was a lot on his mind and that prevented him from doing his duty properly. Firstly, he did not notice the shadow in pursuit of him. Titmouse was so absorbed in the goings-on of the past few days that he didn't notice a few clues in the foliage that there had been prey sneaking around too; scents of squirrel were most obvious, but there were graze lines from deer aligning with the boy's shoulders that went missed because of his bowed head.

He kicked aside some ferns and gouged the soil in the process, only to leave the exposed roots of the plants behind. They were probably of no use to their medical stores but it was still wasteful, damaging, and thoughtless. When a twig or branch snapped nearby Titmouse paused and raised his head - thinking that the twin shadows had tracked him back to the woods after all to complete their hunt.

Titmouse felt his blood chill, but became deer-like as he watched the dark, listening for danger.

Euron had always enjoyed the simple act of following and listening, gathering what information he could from careless mouths in the shadows. His brother had excelled at it so greatly he'd made a life of it, sneaking and spying and selling the information for his benefit. Ramsay, on the other hand, relished fear. Not the kind of fear Blackfeather Wood's Dark Masters had bragged of in the past—the fear for one's life, the fear of pain—but rather, the fear of the unknown. He wasn't inherently a violent beast and took no pleasure in seeing terror on another's face because of violence.

But when they couldn't see the thing they were afraid of? Or when they didn't know what the outcome would be? That was horror in its purest form, and Ramsay derived a great deal of satisfaction from it. So much that he often didn't discriminate between friend, stranger or foe when pursuing it. In this case it happened to be Titmouse, who thus far hadn't noticed him. So he did what he did best: he deviated from his course, bringing his paw down intentionally on an errant twig into the sharp snrk of its breaking made the white wolf lift his head.

Ramsay smiled then, sinking low in the shadows and watching Maegi's companion with keen indigo eyes. It was cruel to taunt a creature thusly, but it was all in the name of fun... to Ramsay, anyway. For Mou, this was sort of like training. The forest was dark and spooky and had the capacity to overwhelm its inhabitants with its gloom. Not only that, but they were close to the mountains, inviting the occasional wildcat or two down into the trees. They needed to know the sound of being stalked. His squat body was ideal for this sort of thing; it wasn't as hard to hide as a full wolf's. He inched ever so slightly forward, rustling a bush in the process, and then fell completely still, waiting for Titmouse to locate him if he could.

In his short life Mou had endured far, far too much danger. He'd survived numerous potential endings. In a past life he had been a warrior - or an aspiring one, anyway. No semblance of skill had carried over; he was not a fighter, not a hunter, but while he stood there Mou was keenly attuned to his surroundings. He didn't move. He barely took a breath, and had to keep turning his head to gte a better look at the amorphous shadows around him. It didn't help that half his vision was lost to a perpetual void.

If someone was there watching him, he didn't know where they were hiding. Nothing smelled amiss. There was a breeze buffeting the boughs overhead - disrupting some of the birds roosting - but once that resolved itself there was stillness. He slowly sighed a breath and began to move again, stalking along with his nimble limbs, but would pause every few feet to look and to listen. Mou wondered if he had been found by the wolves of Moonspear after all. That meant they'd all be in danger --

But if that were the case, the Cerberus wouldn't be able to hold back. They would have set upon him immediately, and satisfied whatever make-believe debt they thought he still owed. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of eyes upon him - and he grew nervous, his tail twitching and steps slowing.

He shouldn't take as much pleasure as he did in a packmate's nervousness, but Ramsay couldn't help himself. He didn't get these opportunities often without the potential for being bitten. Of course, there was still a possibility that Titmouse would react very poorly to Ramsay's game, but he wasn't thinking about it in the moment. He watched quietly as his packmate grew more and more antsy—or at least he assumed that was what it was, without knowing any of Mou's history.

Slowly, carefully, he began to push forward, pushing first his nose and then his grinning snout out of the shadows so that Titmouse might see it on his next close inspection. Then, satisfied with the game, Ramsay uttered a quiet, boo.

As the face of the disfigured boy slowly formed, it was like watching the creature from the black lagoon rise out of a swamp; he didn't notice at first, and the obscurity that the shadows lent to Ramsay helped to keep the mutant obscured. There was darkness everywhere; Mou was no longer afraid of the great black void that haunted him, that persisted at all times. But when Ramsay's face became so exposed that his eyes glimmered, catching shafts of the grey light, Mou finally took notice of him.

At first he didn't react. That flare of indecision paired with a long history of poppy abuse, which made Mou less inclined to trust what lay before him — with his poor eyesight he could see the glimmering eyes but not make out much depth, so the face wasn't quite registering. Not until the mouth opened, the voice crawled forth — boo, and Mou's body reacted in conjunction with his intense focus.

He lost control for a moment as the thrill of being startled took hold, fur standing on-end and ears lancing back across his skull; his face bowed towards the pair of eyes with a wheezing snarl, but he didn't lash out. Rather, the boy froze in place. He wanted to back up, maybe strike - but he was rigid instead, glaring with an ugly grimace at the floating face in the dark.

He held himself steady when Titmouse snarled and nearly surged forward, with just his hind legs tensing in case the masked face did close the distance to strike. When it became apparent that Mou wasn't actually going to attack him, Ramsay roared with laughter—approving, not mocking—and stepped out of the shadows completely, giving his grotesquely short body a shake.

You've good instincts, Mou, he complimented, hoping he hadn't frightened his sister's one-eyed partner too badly. He delighted in the little tells that spoke of fear in others, of the scent curdling their glands, but it was all in good fun, particularly this time. The woods are excellent for hiding you, but best not to forget it can hide others just as easily. It is good you noticed me right away, even if your eyes could not tell.

The face withdrew, replaced by a black void, and the ensuing laughter fouled Titmouse's mood further; he did not like to be mocked, and the feeling of having his nervousness exposed was beyond irritating. He almost felt like leaving right then - utterly disinterested in hearing what the voice was trying to say to him - but then he recognized it. Ramsay emerged within moments with commendations for the way the ghost reacted. It shouldn't have smarted so much, but Mou found that the entire exchange was hurtful and degrading.

Then Ramsay said something about eyes, and Mou couldn't tell if he was being an asshole or if he was just forgetful - maybe he hadn't noticed that there was a sunken pit where one of his eyes once sat? But the commentary only made him flash his teeth in nearly-silent protest; a low growl (which was more like a deflating balloon with irregular pitch) was all he had to say on the subject.

He flashed Ramsay a glare, his one orange eye made more obvious because of the pallor of his face, and turned away as if to leave.

Ramsay wasn't completely oblivious to the decline in Titmouse's mood, but it was made plain when the man parted his jaws in a silent snarl. Taken aback a little, the dwarf took a step back, allowing the smile to dim from his features, though the mirth remained in his eyes. Was it something he said? He dialed back a moment, then started. Ah, of course. He'd been misunderstood.

Ah, Mou, relaaax, Ramsay implored with none of the laughter he'd previously had, padding forward as if to follow. I meant only in general. My apologies if I upset you. If Titmouse's eye colour was darker, then maybe he could be forgiven for not making mention, but with how vivid the remaining one was, it was impossible not to notice. Ramsay meant the infinitive you, but hadn't been very specific, and anyway, formal though his manner of speaking tended, he was still a yearling who occasionally bungled it up.

Will you tell me how you lost it? he asked, somehow suspecting from Mou's previous reaction that the answer would be no, which he would respect.

The ghost did not get far before the stunted shadow came calling; Ramsay pursued with apologies spilling from his lips. Mou knew better than to be hurt by the moment; he had let himself feel pain over something old and irreversible. It was childish. He was ready to let it go just as his friend asked the truly forbidden question.

He stopped his sulking, but the dark expression on his face merely deepend. Mou hated speaking about this - hated it being a point of interest for others. If he could have shouted like his old self, he would have. Screeched and protested, told Ramsay to leave him alone - but instead he simply gave him that solitary chilling look, and slurred, Moonspear.

There was nothing more to be said.

He didn't get the hint the first time, but the bone-gripping frigidity of Titmouse's look stopped him in his tracks. He uttered a single word, one that made Ramsay press his ears forward with interest, but judging by his friend's expression, he wasn't going to get more than that. Suddenly he regretted having pursued and spooked Mou the way he did. Maybe he would have been more forthcoming if Ramsay hadn't done that first.

But, then again, maybe not. Just because Ramsay didn't have many reservations when it came to his past didn't mean others did. Speaking of Cicero's death was possibly the only really sore point for him. Potema was a close second. He didn't know what Moonspear meant but assumed it was either a wolf or a place, and he hoped to never know the difference if that was what Moonspear had done to Titmouse. Licking his lips pensively, the dwarf nodded in his unusual way, then slipped back into the shadows to leave the man be for a time. Best not to push any more of Tit's buttons just now.