Haunted Wood whistlin' past the graveyard

He had just about lost all hope in finding her, when there she was. Among the grayness of the snow with its criss-crossing shadows, she was a black pit that appeared familiar and alien all at once. He knew not to confuse her for Raven now - they were so incredibly different - but even so, Titmouse picked up his pace and closed the distance without much thought. She could've been laying in wait for him here for a while. This could've been a trap, or worse, exactly what he wanted -- he wasn't sure which event would've been more startling to him.

But he slowed as he rounded upon her position, paced up to her, and stopped a good wolf-length away. He'd learned his lesson the last time he'd found her. Then, she had been a complete stranger, and he had been an idiot kid. Now... Well, they weren't much different, but his freshly healed leg didn't need another lesson in proper manners. 

Green Eyes? He spoke, his tone questioning and low. She looked tired, but was watching the stars as if nothing was amiss at all. Titmouse wondered if she had been living here the whole time or if fate had merely done what he'd asked - and he took a breath to steady his nerves, but that only gave him some sour news.

She smelled like Blackfeather. She had betrayed him.