Shadewood set the phasers to rot

Cry hadn’t seen the lithe wolf, and the snort simply materialized out of nowhere. The Assassin turned around with such sharp movement, it was near unreal. Over his shoulder, just over there, a haphazard shape of darker and light gristles of grey jutted out from the plane of white they had been standing amongst. While Cry had been misting through the border, intent on keeping watch day in and day out while his girls were recovering, he patrolled as he had always done. A true Guardian of the woods, and the right Keeper or Shadewood. Nothing happened to pass in or out without his say so. 

Or well, his wife’s. 

Regardless, the ivory angel had instilled in him the rooting urge to help those who were seeking shelter in these cold times, in some strange hope that the assisted would know of the good of the Family. While Cry was partially against simply bringing in strangers and giving them leniency to use their home as a safehouse, he could see the purpose behind it. Soon, souls would flock to them, needing a place to stay. As long as they could earn their keep, they could stay in the Keep. 

Was this raggle of silver silver one of those souls?

Apathetic yet gingerly curious glacial irises laid siege across the body of bones and frailty. And soon enough, the Phantom turned and made his way over, bleeding from the shadows of the massive woods as though he detached from them, himself. 

“Hello,” he began the light greeting. While he struggled to properly converse and not pry as he always managed to do as a recon, he had learned a bit better from Phex as to keeping a conversation from erupting. 
Well, Sort of.

”How ya doin?”