Blackfeather Woods Someday your bird is going to fly.

He'd become withdrawn since their arrival at the forest's edge. Not that it mattered any to begin with, since he was naturally so quiet. For a few hours the pair had split up and now it was Titmouse that investigated the forgotten woodland; it wasn't long since his departure from the ranks of Blackfeather, and yet so much had changed. It was empty now. Only the ravens lived here now, and the twin ghosts seeking refuge.

The boy found a familiar path after some investigating. It was beginning to grow-over, be retaken by the indomitable will of the forest. Without the constant patrols, the bodies to push through and the paws to break down the soil, it was becoming something else. Tit plunged in to the darkness of the path without a second thought and within a few moments his stride caught on something sharp - a sapling maybe, or an eager bramble trying to root itself.

He stumbled but emerged further along the route with a line of blood staining the silver fur of his wrist. He flexed, tested his weight on the offended limb, and found it to be superficial. As he watched the blood pooling across the welt though, he wondered, 'was that what you needed, all this time? Some sort of blood-tax?'

Overhead was the whistling sound of a raven's wings as it sought out a branch.

Maegi was going the opposite direction, doing much the same work as Mou—making this place habitable again. Cursing a little, she forged her way through the brush, ducking and weaving and occasionally stopping to sniff at an interesting plant. What was even more interesting, though, was Mou's scent up ahead, and she followed it with a wagging tail, smiling.

Hey, she greeted, her warm tone reserved for him only coming out. She butted her head against his shoulder, and then pulled back, her nostrils flaring and her voice much different than before. I smell blood. Are you bleeding? She began to cast her gaze over his lanky form, checking for injury.

Gee, thanks Mom. What are you gonna do next, tell him to put on a coat because it's freezing outside?

As he investigated the wound he noticed the vivid shade of red against the backdrop of his pale limb and couldn't help but think, 'Pretty, poppy red,' and then his mind drifted to thoughts of those addictive plants; he wondered if any persisted despite the winter season, or if they'd become overgrown since the abandonment of the forest. His thoughts were paused when he heard something moving in the darkness beside him — and then emerged Maegi, sharing her affection. Titmouse nuzzled against her plush coat with his snout in return but she was soon distracted by the scent of his injury.

He lifted his wrist in to view, and then returned it to the dirt. It wasn't a bad cut or anything, a non-issue. He continued to ignore it as he drifted by her, and soon Titmouse was investigating the overgrown path again. It seemed so different now, seeing this place that had once filled his mind with nightmares - then to think of it as home - and now, it stood here hollow, gutted of all that made it mighty. A part of him felt an unmistakable reverence for the dark woods.

Her lips pulled tight in a straight, disapproving line as he barely let her get a look at the cut before putting it down. She wasn't able to get a word in edgewise as he brushed past her, down the path again. With a tiny sigh, she tried to keep the blood-smell out of mind and poked around for moss instead, hoping that maybe he'd let her at least tend to the wound a little.

It's so empty, Maegi remarked, nose lowered to the base of an ancient tree. Ancient, but still sturdy. She bared her teeth and tugged, plugging a clump of vivid green from between two knobbled roots. It was always empty, really, but now. . .

Even if she went days without seeing more than one or two souls, she had still, as a child, possessed the knowledge that Vaati, Kove, Miraak, were all within calling distance. She was not alone. Today, there were just a few of them, and they lacked the structure the woods had once boasted. It was very strange, and honestly disheartening. Would it ever be like it once was?

It's so empty...

Maegi narrated what he felt inside, what he saw as he looked at the old paths and eerie trees. He turned and regarded her in his silence; she began to pull at something within the darkness of the trees, maybe trying to clean the place up. What good would that do? But he didn't stop her. The reverence he felt was paired with something close to sorrow — even though this place had once been heaven to him, it had been hell before that. Now, it seemed more like purgatory, and they were the ghosts trapped inside.

Titmouse frowned without meaning to. His thoughts darkened his features, characterized his silence in to something sombre - then he broke that silence, murmuring as clearly as he could, It doesn't have ta be.

He crept closer to her, not interrupting what she was doing save for the comment: It could be ours. Together.

It might have been the clearest, crispest words she'd heard from his mouth in all the time she had known Mou, and she turned to face him, face slightly taken aback. She stared for a while, finding something in his expression she couldn't quite read. It could be ours. Together.

It is ours, Maegi said firmly, a small smile blooming over her face. He was very close, and she pressed slightly against him, his presence a comfort in the woods that had grown slightly unfamiliar. It always will be ours. And we have Ramsay, and Flicker, and. . .

She trailed off, eyes drifting away. It's our home, she murmured. Maybe one day it'll be like how it was. And thus, Maegi completely and utterly missed any subtext to this conversation.

She missed what he was implying, but he didn't know what he expected. Maybe she didn't want the same things as he did; it was more likely she just wasn't thinking about the future in the same vein as himself, and maybe she just wasn't ready to. But that was okay.

Titmouse would wait for her. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth — to hell and back, fighting the dark gods all the while if he had to. She was committed to Blackfeather but he was committed to her. He finally cleared his throat to say, it will be better.

Blackfeather was her birthright, she could do it no wrong.

Maegi's face grew soft at his optimism; she turned to him with a renewed fervor in her eyes. A small fire, but a fire nonetheless. We'll make it better, she whispered, butting her muzzle underneath his chin. It'll be even more of a home than it was before.

And that was saying something. But with this cast of characters now in place, how could it not be? She was surrounded by almost everyone she adored, and there was always the possibility that the others may come, some day. The forest may be empty, but her heart was full.

We've got some work to do, though, she muttered, looking at the overgrown path before them, the tangled brush. She shot Mou a grin. Ready to go on an adventure?

Wagging her tail, she plunged into the thicket without warning, immediately giving a yelp as the brambles raked her pelt and the skin beneath it. Ow! I'm—ow. I'm okay. It's not a fun adventure, but it's—ow—one we have to do, Maegi said, pulling back and giving Mou a jaundiced look.

He was ready and willing to do whatever she asked; perhaps by showing his devotion at every turn, she would come to regard him as more than just a ghost, or a dear friend, no matter how strongly it was felt. One day the ruins of this once-mighty forest would be filled with their children. It was inevitable. The woods had called to him for as long as Titmouse existed, and continued even now - but perhaps the trees and the ravens called on Maegi's behalf. Her old gods were tricky things.

He prepared to go along further but Maegi spun and dove off the path, in to the brambles, with a flourish and murmured commentary. The boy didn't like seeing her hurt; at the same time, he let out a breathy rasp of laughter at her bold actions, and dutifully followed in her wake. She crashed and fought the bramble while he pranced behind, shaping the forest with kicks and lunges of his own, pruning with sharp snaps of his teeth - whatever would get the job done.

If someone would have asked her about having children with Mou, she would have been happy at the prospect. Why wouldn't she? It wasn't an illicit union like that of her parents, and she loved Mou more than almost anyone in the world. There was no other wolf she'd rather raise kids with.

At the same time, her knowledge of such things was proficient. Her love for her friend was confusing, deeply perplexing and too complex to put in a box. No one had ever taught her about romance or sex—babies just seemed to happen, and she didn't know how. Mou would have to ask for what he wanted, and even then, Maegi had no earthly idea how to begin to provide.

Her muzzle snapped at the thicket, pushing it clear from the path. She recognized it as one leading to a cache of hers, which made it all the more important to clean up. By the time they'd get to the next small clearing, she'd be covered in burrs and leaves and bleeding slightly from several scrapes, but ultimately pleased with her work.

After snapping away a few patches, he made it to her location. Then he began working at one side of the thicket while she did another; soon enough they had cleared plenty of the mess away. Tit became so engrossed in the work that he lost track of himself - but one poorly aimed snap caused his mouth to catch on a cluster of bramble, so when he came away his cheek was smeared with blood. It wasn't as gnarly as Maegi's grinning face, but there was a vague similarity. He pulled away from the work and huffed, spitting thorns and debris from his tongue.

There they both stood, bleeding and breathing. Maegi gave him a soft look, then padded toward him. She lifted her chin to gently lave the blood from his cheek; her nose wrinkled slightly at the taste of it, but the comforting closeness of him outweighed that. Thus having cleaned him up a bit, she nestled her head into the crook of his neck, sitting back on her haunches.

It was theirs. All of it. And the world still spun, round—round—round.