Blackfeather Woods [m] i've known everything but this

The ghost lingered in the caves for most of the daylight hours, knowing well enough that it was not a permanent solution to any problems yet finding the tunnels to be a comfort, which was odd considering his history with them. The more he mapped of them, learned of them, the less nervous he became. He could find his way through most of the major tunnels of the web without light; when you only had one eye to judge the world with, it became easier to adapt to full blindness.

He slunk from the depths beneath Blackfeather Woods from a hidden grotto, a gap of stonework netted by moss and vine so dense that it had taken him multiple days to clear a path for himself. It was a secret hideaway among the vast blackness of the wood, something that was solely his own. He had hoped to clean it up, make it fit to share — but it would take weeks of work and there were other things to tend to. So for the time being he gave up; he would find the time another day, or another night, but it would be done.

Titmouse made his way through the caves again, reveling in the darkness and the frigidity of the air until his flesh felt too numb. He wanted to find Maegi. It seemed like he hadn't seen her in a week or more — his sense of time having become corrupted due to his amount of time spent below ground.

He ducked through a corridor and out, in to the slanting spring light which wasn't exactly warm, but was certainly a different sensation than the stale air he had been breathing. He winced as a thick shaft of light caught across his face, breaking through the canopy of pinewood, and swerved in to a shadow; blinking rapidly, shaking off the dust that clung to his coat from the web's innards as he stalked among the ferns.

Then he noticed it — a sharp familiar scent, one that warmed his core. He paused and took a moment to sweep his limited gaze across the tangled paths, then set off again — long limbs carrying him swiftly through the forest, until finally he came to a gap (which he nearly dashed by without slowing) and spotted the pale shape he so loved. Titmouse punched the earth with his forepaws to slow himself, then lunged the other direction, heading through the trees towards her.

As always, Titmouse was silent. He drew closer and closer, not finding anything amiss — they had certainly shared many hours of poppy together, so if Maegi had a glazed look or anything, he did not feel disturbed by it. She was beautiful. She would always be beautiful.