The Heartwood see myself as a ghost

her curiosity was evident, and though his expression remained carved in stone, there was something softer beneath the surface—a flicker of understanding.

ninauga he began, his voice low, deliberate, means son-in-law in the tongue of the moonwoman. her people speak it—moonglow speaks it. he paused, watching for her reaction, measuring her understanding. the way her head cocked, the curiosity laced in her tone, spoke volumes. she was searching, though whether it was for clarity or for something deeper, he couldn't yet tell.

she still lives, he added simply, the weight of those words carrying unspoken depth. the moonwoman, @Kukutux. she leads her people, as she always has. there was no need for embellishment; the truth was enough.

his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, studying the argent woman who seemed tied to memories of something—or someone—lost. you knew her, didn’t you? the question was rough-edged, like the man himself, but not unkind. it was clear she carried a history that had led her here, though not one to pry, couldn’t help but notice the threads of her story unraveling before him.

tag for mention