The Heartwood i'm a ghost of you, you're a ghost of me

@Mou maybe?

The woods creaked and moaned with the touch of the wind. Something about it was haunting – unfamiliar – and left the titan with a feeling of longing. It was as though a portion of him belonged there, but he did not know that part of himself. However foreign that feeling was, Ford found it to be what pushed him further into the tangle of woodland. The chilling nip of an upcoming winter was what tugged against the jagged tendrils of his lengthy coat. The hair on his shoulders and neck seemed to sway with the lightest of brushes. He paid little mind; it was all a natural reaction.

Birds whispered overhead, sending their voices across the boughs of the trees where they perched. Ford glanced up to them once and gathered the distinct scent of the woods through his nostrils, flared at the touch of the chilling breeze. As if to urge him on, the wind picked up and rattled through the changing leaves. A flurry of orange and yellow seemed to spiral around him – a natural phenomenon. Against the dark coat of the inkhound, it looked as though a spell had been cast in the wild wood. He listened, but heard only the sound of the forest creaking against the seasonal change.