The Heartwood he said to me child i'm afraid for your soul

@Vaati

when caw wakes, the sun is already creeping down beyond the horizon.

he does not keep much of a logical sleep schedule, so it does not bother him. he is dictated entirely by whim, and by what avis suggests, perhaps, and at this moment she is nowhere to be seen, so there is nobody to suggest he should move. instead, curled up among the bones and viscera of a deer that is only a day or two dead, caw wiggles sleepily and pokes his muzzle out from under the curve of its ribcage, yawning wide. his muzzle gleams unnaturally in the watery light, but that is nothing to the rest of his fur, caked so thoroughly with blood that there is no longer much to suggest there is white in his pelt at all.

he manuvers his paws out to rest his chin atop them and for a few minutes he remains there, the air so thick with the metallic smell of blood and organs that, despite his surroundings -- burnt trees and grass and dirt still near-black with char -- he cannot actually detect any ash. ears cocked forward, he dozes instead, tucked under the curve of bones like some giant beast's teeth, until a familiar, harsh caw catches his attention.

his head bumps against the point of a rib when he lifts it upwards, but he pays it no mind, if anything enjoying the unexpected flicker of pain. "ave!" he trills, wiggling free of his confines and out into open air as the crow swoops down. after a moment, he feels claws in his fur, a gentle weight settling against his back. "iterum obvenimus!"

freed from the welcome warmth of his temporary sleeping spot, his pelt immediately begins to feel distinctly sticky. as avis chirps back a reply that feels distinctly amused, he snaps at a stray piece of flesh tangled up with the feathers threaded into his scruff and waits for her to move before he shakes himself out, showering bits of gore everywhere. he has never gotten the feeling that she is particularly pleased with his tendencies to mess his fur, but then napping in the dirt is hardly an alternative at all.

Vaati would have continued on his path, had the stranger not been completely doused in blood. Startling it may have been, knowing that Blackfeather rested not too far away, he found it rather unsurprising. At a glance Vaati assumed the other to be a resident of the dark woods simply by visual appeal, however, quick scent check proved otherwise and so did the source of the scene which mimicked that of a bloody massacre. It was not wolf blood. He makes his presence known in growling lowly to the other; a sound born not distinctly out of hostility but neither lacking it. Vaati had encountered enough oddballs in his lifetime to be able to tell with accuracy, the difference between the average and the unusual. Yet the severity of each individual's unique esotericism varied in each case, and he remained unknowing as to exactly why the other found himself comfortable in the eviscerated digestive tract of a carcass. In that sense, the other reminded him unfondly of the borders of Blackfeather Woods as a single entity, peculiar and ominously alluring to the eye simply because of his gory display. Like something you couldn’t look away from, whether out of curiosity or horror. Vaati found rather quickly that he wanted to know more. “Is it comfortable?” He inquired, indicating to the cocoon of flesh the other had made his bed in. Whether or not the other was capable of conversation meant less to him than simply gathering an answer, having never considered of hollowing out his prey before. Perhaps it was worth a try. He wondered silently if his victims would hold the same effect.

the ash immediately clings to his fur like a second skin, stirred up from where his paws touch ground. he spins in a halting half-circle, tail trailing blood and a mess of whatever equally unpleasant liquid one finds inside a carcass, and considers the jutting bones for a brief moment, tongue slipping from between his parted jaws to lap wetly at his muzzle. his stomach is already full from earlier, tearing off what he wanted before he settled in to nap, but scavenger he might be he is somewhat reluctant to leave a potential meal.

especially when whatever killed it in the first place might be back. 

that thought is particularly promising. he hovers for a moment longer, ears flicking as he sniffs thoughtfully at the air, and in the end is torn from his deliberation by avis' harsh caw where she is now perched on the sharp curve of one of its exposed ribs. she rustles her feathers, staring sharply past him, and caw cocks his head and follows her gaze. and blinks.

caw is not small, for his age at least, but the wolf looking back at him dwarfs him anyways -- the largest he has seen. of course, of anyone, the least likely to be discouraged by that is caw. if anything, it is intriguing, which avis seems to realize in the way she launches forward and lands neatly on his shoulder. her claws dig through his damp fur and into the skin underneath, but unfortunately, caw has still not gained much in the way of a sense of caution.

caw perks excitedly at his question, the crimson rings of his eyes gleaming against the red-tinged ink of his muzzle as he drifts in the man's direction heedless of avis' warnings, even as they grow progressively more aggressive with proximity. "is okay!" caw informs him helpfully. "better than dirt." perhaps, for a given definition. caw much prefers the feel of blood and viscera in his fur to that of dirt -- even enjoys it, when the scent is strong enough that it works its way through his somewhat-stunted sense of smell -- though the fine ash has all but ensured he will need to wash it all from his fur.

he draws even closer, coated in blood and ash, thoroughly destroying any concept of personal boundary as he does so, chattering to himself in latin for a brief few moments before he pieces the words together. "it is yours?"

my apologies for the wait!!

Hm. It was interesting to learn that sleeping inside a rotting carcass was far more comfortable than laying on the dirt ground - something Vaati had never before considered. The other’s next statement struck him a comical, in an ironic sort of way. "If it was mine, you wouldn't have been in it." It was a fair statement, but Vaati found it intriguing that the other had been so bold as to steal another’s kill to use as his bedding. However backtracking, the other uttered words in a language he had never heard before, one that sounded familiar in an odd way, but was also unrecognizable to translate. “What is that you speak in?” Vaati pressed further in his inquiry of the other man. The man was quite strange - what with the odd bits of feather sticking out, the blood that completely coated his pelt, and the strange language that flowed from his tongue. No less strange was the crow that sat perched on his back and the close proximity the other lingered at, but Vaati was well versed and accustomed to the strange of all varieties. It didn’t unnerve him, but caused him to become increasingly curious. A curiosity that was no doubt well justified.