Stone Circle louder than god's revolver and twice as shiny

@Newt
staying vague about keen's injuries. will be AW after a few rounds <3

To say that she'd never imagined herself returning to Easthollow would be a lie; she's always known, in some capacity, that she would return to these borders one day. The bittersweet call of home is unlike anything she has encountered before or since, and it is rare that a day passes without a single thought spared for her family, for the towering stones and stretching fields she'd been raised upon. But she hadn't imagined a reunion — had never dared to think her paws might cross Easthollow's borders while Greyback still inhabits the territory; surely by then, her mother would be only a memory, and her siblings scattered to the winds. She'd conjured a ghost town in her mind, abandoned by all save the dead and the earth itself somewhere in the distant future, and part of her had enjoyed the thought. She could have claimed it for herself — built a new life from the ashes —
Yet it is almost like she never left. New scents wreath the borders, as strong as ever, and she hesitates, lingering where the scents are thickest. But this is her home — her birthplace. She has a right to be here, doesn't she? Reminding herself that her mother would never allow harm to come to her (when she's around, a cruel voice reminds her), she presses on, gaze still flitting warily over the landscape as if she may be attacked at any moment. I could be killed, she thinks, and the thought locks her aching limbs into place without warning. She stumbles slightly, catching herself with a sharp breath at the sudden pressure on her injured shoulder. What am I doing here? She mutters into the silence, head dropping a little as the weight of the situation settles on her fully. Trying to die, perhaps, in the only place she has ever found real peace — or maybe she simply wants to come home.

Newt has his eyes on the sky, humming a tune over and over. He fumbles, pausing with a disgruntled look upon his boyish face before he fixes the missed note and picks up a different tune that he thinks flows better. After Leta’s incident, the only thing that seems to please his sister is the night sky filled with stars. So, Newt is working on a new song to gift to her, one that speaks about the stars above, in hopes of cheering her up.

He does not realize how far he has wandered, not until he freezes at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. His eyes flicker from the sky down to the grass surrounding the open plains, and then up again, to the figure that stands nearby. Her coloration similar enough to his mother that he almost thinks it’s her. His ears flicker forward, and his eyes narrow in thought. No, her colors are richer, more similar to that of the big food Valette told them about.

“Hi!” He greets, because even if he does not know her personally, she must be a new person of Easthollow, or just someone he hadn't come across before like Piper. And Piper was nice! She complimented his singing. Maybe this lady likes songs too? “My name is Newt! Do you like…” He pauses, puzzled, because he actually never heard of a word for his pieces. So he leans back, and starts singing a verse of his song before he stops. A big grin on his face and his tail wagging.

The boy's approach goes unnoticed far longer than it should. Keen curses herself as she flinches, undeniably startled by the loud greeting; had she really been so lost in her own mind? Her gaze finds him in an instant, but she doesn't see him. She doesn't hear him, either — not at first. The first thing she registers is the scents on his fur, thick and choking and far too familiar, and for a moment the rest falls away.
Singing? She hears herself say when she comes back to herself, though it somehow doesn't sound quite like her — more like another speaking through her, disjointed and detached. It's — nice. She swallows, then — Who are your parents? She already knows, of course; how could she not? But she needs to hear it aloud, to finally receive proof of what she's always known: Valette has replaced her broken little family with a new one, something better, something whole. She wonders if her mother even thinks about her, now.

Singing?

“Yeah!” Newt confirms. He is eager to know if she does, because then maybe he could see if she likes his song in full then—or if it still needs some work. His tail, however, beats a touch faster as she says it’s nice. Aware of the tension in the situation, and yet, not understanding it enough to react anyway else.

“Really?” He asks, quietly—surprise and joy lighting his face. His cheeks puff round with the way he smiles. Just as he is to ask her for help, however, she asks him a question. His head tilts to the left. “Papa is Greyback, and mama is Valette. They are… are… busy! Right now.” Otherwise Newt would… likely not have gotten this close towards the borders, and he is probably going to be scolded by them later… but he does not know that yet.

His eyes wander, frowning with concern when he finally notices how her shoulder is hurt… kind of like his father, and Valette, and some of the others around.

“Hey, is your leg hurt too? I know a trick to make it better! And, and! I can singing to you.”

Somehow, his response cuts at her as deeply as if she had not expected it. The air vanishes from her lungs, chest tightening as if it might explode, and for several moments she's speechless. She swallows again, blinking burning tears from her eyes as she stares at the grey-furred boy. Grey like his father. An ugly feeling uncoils itself within her at the thought, and she thinks of the pale girl in the meadow with a shiver. Grey, just like Greyback, but so much easier to be rid of. But he isn't Greyback, is he? Not any more than Merrit is Stark (despite his best efforts). Finally, she takes a breath.
Sing, She corrects shakily, lowering herself slowly into a sitting position. That's — the right word. You can sing to me. She isn't certain whether she's giving him permission or simply correcting him. Both, maybe. She takes another breath, and this time it hurts. What's your trick?

His excitement wanes, setting across the horizon with that shaky response and the way she sits gingerly. Newt approaches, curious with his head leaned downwards yet big eyes peering up in question.

“Does it hurt? My legs hurt a lot, too. It’s bad feeling.” He says, feeling awkward to mention the obvious raw patches along his legs. Some areas chewed so much they reveal scabs. He thinks that is why she seems so off. Thus far, pain has shown that it makes people want to rest, and not happy. Valette with her paw, Leta with her incident, Greyback with his shoulder. Newt… with his legs.

“I can show you! Mama said cold water helps! It feels good,” he says, beaming again. He turns, a touch too quick for the boy stumbles on his too large paws. Yet he’s gotten better about catching himself before he eats a mouthful of grass.