Blackfeather Woods are you afraid of dying alone

the blackwoods is not a quiet woodland: eerie calls sounds along the treeline, the click of ungulate joints, the rustle of underbrush and the crunch of debris beneath ingram's own paws as he unknowingly shifts through the territory of part of his family tree.

he comes across what he assumes to be a once altar, overgrown but beneath the twisting vines that had begun to reclaim it he finds bones.

he studies them for a prolonged moment, feeling the familiar tug towards them; though trying to determine which one 'spoke' to him to add to his threadbones might take some time.

this process is interrupted.

the feeling of being watched is a prickle of needles along his shoulders, slithering down his spine. he bristles with unease. who's there? calling into the shadows of the woods, hoping that he was not just speaking to a curious woodland critter.