Arrow Lake there goes the neighbourhood...

They were sizing each other up, this ghost and shadow. Looking at one another as if they were the same: a body without its soul, perhaps. Redshank certainly looked ragged and hungry, being a lone wolf akin to an undead life of constant struggle. Mou, stilted and pale and listless, needing something more to root him in one place. They had met before as children, as young adults, and now - perhaps it was fated that they always be involved with the other. Redshank spoke; he sounded bewildered but not afraid.

Mou was not sure if he trusted what his memories were trying to tell him. He knew this boy - though a boy no longer - and he didn't trust his voice either, having gone so long thinking he was forever muted. Some kind of magic, or a blessing, had brought his voice back. And why now? Not important, he reasoned poorly.

Titmouse. He enunciated, tasting that word he long ago stopped associating with himself.