Moonspear [Trespassing] Faded to grey

It is a funny thing that happens, when one sees a familiar face in place unfamiliar to their presence. In part, the face is forgotten. Friends are strangers, aquaintances pass by without so much as a wave, even family, whose faces frame the memories of childhood and youth, are lost to the disarming sensation that they are somewhere wrong, somewhere they are not supposed be.

Yet in part, they are remembered. A thread of recognition passes through the mind and causes the foot to stall, the eye to linger a little bit longer, the body to cease in rapt pursuit of that trespasser with his crimson trail.

Merrit understood the laws of Moonspear, yet there was something within the frame of this vagrant that caused him to stall. His scent was nearly unknown to him - perhaps tinged with something of what he had smelled at the lake the first time he had fought with the Queen of this land, but otherwise foreign, save for something inexplicably familiar. The phantom circled the fallen boy still braced to attack --

Instead he peeled forward, the fur on his spine prickling with tension. If Hydra descended, how would he explain himself? Yet he seemed injured -- and that familiarity --

Merrit forced himself forward from where he had concealed himself, and moved with an attempt not to harm the boy, but to simply pin the stranger to the ground.