Shadewood the wood's labyrinth

Scrutiny always made his skin itch, like he was being tested on something he wasn't ever truly certain of. It was ironic, given his tendency to judge behind dark lashes and placid glances. It wasn't quite so harsh around Qvasir, but it didn't stop nipping at his heels, never leaving long.

Forgetting death is welcoming it into your bed, Cormorant agreed, as though it was a familiar concept and not something unfathomable to them as mortal beings.

His gaze briefly followed the path Qvasir's took, as though a ghost would be awaiting there, before it was back, tracing lines between the colors of the other's face. It was all a little too similar to something that set him on edge, as though he were unknowingly teetering on an invisible cliff.

The offer provided was one that made him jump, almost as if he were waking up from some daze. In itself, tempting, painfully so. To walk alongside another and never fear something behind alone; or at the very least, fear it less. Poisonous words that refused to leave his memory bit and gnawed at the back of his mind, and Cormorant's previously polite and open nature shuttered.

I cannot, His frame had drawn all back to himself. In an instant, he had become the wolf that had appeared in the Shadewood's clutches in the first place, all cold blue eyes and drawn-back ears. His words were halting, but there was still a genuine twill to them, even if he seemed keener on studying the grass beneath their paws then the other's expression. Your offer is generous and I hope someone will take to it, but I—cannot.