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

That's right; if he focused his attention he could make out the rest of that white-shape, and it wasn't defined. He watched the stranger for a long moment before the darkness finally made sense to his eye, and he saw that they were different from his first glance. Perhaps the stranger was accustomed to the staring because he commented on it swiftly enough, his voice commanding but young. Mou would've been more nervous on any other day, but the boy was feeling bold. Sithis was always with him now — the god would never let harm come to him without good reason.

Sorry, he mouthed. It hadn't been his intention to sneak up on anyone. Mou couldn't help it — and maybe his lack of a voice would be explanation enough as to why he was slipping through the trees like a ghost. Either way — the stranger seemed as if they belonged here among the orange and the red, an ominous presence that manifested for the season, or something. He wondered if this was his home, but didn't ask. A part of Mou knew, somehow, that the raggedy boy was too sharp and wild to be a creature of the wood; Mou was reminded of Seelie of all people, and that made his heart hurt.