Redhawk Caldera Ever get the feeling that you're never all alone?

He hadn't meant to roam this far from the woods, from Maegi, from the safety of the shadows, but as night began to fall across the land Titmouse was creeping westward. The goal was to find something to gift to his love. Something substantial — a filling meal, a few poppy seeds so that they could be certain the red flowers persisted, a skull maybe, something; he'd managed to make it to Bramblepoint as the air began to cool. The sky was streaked with aubergine, not that he'd look away from his path for long.

Before he knew it, Titmouse was striding across the would-be boundary of the caldera. The last time he had been here it had been just as empty, yet now — as he took stock of his surroundings — the rolling hills and jagged cliffs looked just as forlorn and forgotten as Maegi's woods. He was understandably cautious as he slipped along his route, finding that the paths here were not as weed-choked as Blackfeather, and he only paused when he came upon the familiar sight of the old den.

It had partially caved in when he was a babe (or so he had been told, once), and now looked to have collapsed entirely. He nosed about the dirt for a few moments before a crackling in the trees awoke his desire to hunt again, and then he began to stalk towards the whispering trees.

Hydra had been hard at work alongside her sister, @Lyra, in their journey to track the migratory herd that headed back toward their mountains. The males shed their antlers along the journey, and Lyra proudly carried a large rack with her. Hydra was all work and no play until the near-end, when she elected to steal the thing from her sister. 

Her twin knew her well enough to dart ahead, and with a quiet huff Hydra marched onward, alert to her surroundings and not yet near the one-eyed Titmouse.

He saw them first; one shadow, then another, but not a third. For a split-second he thought he imagined them. They moved with purpose, as if they spent many of their days roaming the abandoned lands following the exodus of his family; maybe they had spotted him after all, and they were coming for him. He should have been afraid, but Titmouse found that the longer he traced their shapes, the closer they got, the less he feared them. They had exacted their revenge upon him - whether it was warranted or not - and now he expected nothing from them. No aggression, no great amount of care. Perhaps he was being naive.

But he made no move to hide from them. A ghost of a former self, a former life, haunted by shadows. It seemed almost... Destined.

BIG OL' EDIT bc I'm an idiot and didn't realise the cerb haven't seen tit since they took his eye and lyra would definitely not have insta-recgonised him lmao

She sensed her sister's change of mood as soon as it happened, recognising the switch from business to play from the sudden playful turn of her ears and flick of her tail. Lyra, unwilling to give up the prize she held in her jaws, tossed back her head and raced forwards, awkwardly dragging the mighty set of antlers along with her. Why she was bothering to drag it all the way back to Moonspear was a mystery to all bar Hydra, who also would know that it would make for an impressive decoration.

The Ostrega kept up her ungainly sprint until she was satisfied with the distance put between her and her twin, before she set the antler down to catch her breath. Blue eyes scanned the landscape idly, before suddenly locking onto a lone, pale figure roaming the landscape. He was small, scarred, barely perceivable as a threat, yet something about the stranger set off alarm bells. Her gaze took in his ghost white form, before it traced along his darkened muzzle to the space where his right eye should have been, before drifting to the large, knotted scar at his throat, and finally resting on the shock of orange at his sides. He was so familiar, and yet so foreign. It was only when she tested the air that felt confident enough to investigate, to figure out if this ghost was who she thought he was.

Lyra loosed a soft, growling alert for her sister, gaze never leaving his form. Hydra came up beside her shortly, and the two made their way down the slope in tandem towards the stranger with determined intent. Was this truly him?

Hydra heard her sister, and slowed in her step. Her bright blue eyes surveyed her surroundings until they fell upon a stranger. He was so changed that Hydra could scarcely recognize him by sight, though that he had one eye gave her an idea of who Lyra might have perceived him to be. Was it possible for a wolf to change so much? She would find out. 

Her trajectory shifted, and she headed toward him. There was no aggression or promise of it in her approach, only an intent, driven curiosity. Hydra had always believed him to be alive, but had never been certain of it... and here was her answer, perhaps. Lurking close enough to kill. He could have lived, were he to listen to her only direction: do not return here. Hydra was not one to break a promise made. 

She did not sense fear on him—but had she ever? Not until the very last moment had it emerged in him... and Hydra did not require that in him. She did not seek to be feared. She sought, ultimately, his death. More than that, Hydra did not need. Oh, to be sure, he had paid a price for what he had done to her sister; the bare minimum. But returning was more costly than that. There was much more at risk. Her mother had no future young, yet, and wisely the year prior he had not returned... 

If this was him, he brought this upon himself. He begged it of her. 

Her ears pricked forward, and she licked her chops as step by step, she bridged the gap. Then, her left ear twitched, a mute command to Lyra: let's find out.

When they noticed him - rather, appeared to notice and redirect their trajectory - he wasn't sure if running was an option. They lived for the hunt; a part of him knew that it would only satisfy them if he chose to try and flee, and he would not be hunted. For Maegi's sake, he would face this threat boldly but not blindly.

They drew close. Close enough, he deduced, and he felt his haunches quiver. To presume he faced them bravely would be wrong. He was bold, and fear festered within him, but even if the shadows chose to strike him down now he would not give them the satisfaction of his growing terror. They could not hunt him anymore.

Finally, he spoke - his voice rasping as he called, Who ah you? He knew; yet he allowed himself to feel dwarfed, his tail a curling sickle at his belly. The boy was ruined enough and had died enough times by now, surely they could be satisfied with that? He would play the part of a lost boy with no memories again - perhaps feigning ignorance could save him this one last time.

She could tell Hydra also knew who they now approached. The look of familiarity grew and spread across Lyra's face as they rounded on the meek boy who shrunk before them. She wrinkled her nose as if expecting the strong scent of urine to emanate from him — the pathetic creature had done it the last time they had confronted him. When they had taken half his sight. Her eyes locked onto his own sole remaining one and its burning orange colour that only further solidified her suspicions.

"You don't remember us?" she said, almost mockingly, beginning to trace a path around him in case he tried to flee. Again. "Because I feel like we sure remember you."