Lion Head Mesa Bitter sweet honey

despite ingram's determination to not sulk, he cannot help but despise the fact that he has to communicate with others in a more verbal manner than he would like to... which only makes him miss the easy way in which the shadow and him had been able to communicate nonverbally. more to the fact, he just misses her ...and seeks, perhaps, to fill the void her absence leaves in him.

he'd never particularly been close to anyone ...not skaigona, not druid nor witch nor mahler nor sequoia; perhaps an indication of the horrible betrayal and matricide that had followed.

he takes to wandering around the mesa with as much freedom as the leash he wears will let him, waiting for this war to come. until then, he eats his fill and worries bones to strengthen his teeth, his jaws; eager to give himself into the bloodrage that feels so achingly familiar to his soul, as if he knew it intimately in a past life.

broken out of his train of thoughts, ingram comes upon another; older... though he is uncertain if she is one of ursus or akashingo. for a moment, seaglass gaze studies her as she pushes against the tree with a groan; confusion furrowing his brow. he takes note of the hive hanging from the branch ...and notices that she appears to be looking around for something. quick! he wants to shrink back on himself, to not be seen because socializing is not something he enjoys doing but knows it is far too late, now.

so, he summons his voice and asks, what're you doing? with heavy skepticism that flirted with cloying and barbed amusement.