Shadewood set the phasers to rot

Kind of like...on the edge of the woods? @Cry

This kind of sucked. Nah. It did suck.

His bedraggled form lazily scratched a persistent itch behind his ear. He was a pathetic looker, skin and bones, but he was very much alive. Despite what any hungry carrion bird might think. The cold was miserable. It was sort of why he was here. Shelter or something along the lines.

Granted he could smell the signs of inhabitants within. It caused a snort to fall right out of him. Oi...they're goddamn everywhere. He just wanted to be left alone to hibernate like some sort of bear.

Cry hadn’t seen the lithe wolf, and the snort simply materialized out of nowhere. The Assassin turned around with such sharp movement, it was near unreal. Over his shoulder, just over there, a haphazard shape of darker and light gristles of grey jutted out from the plane of white they had been standing amongst. While Cry had been misting through the border, intent on keeping watch day in and day out while his girls were recovering, he patrolled as he had always done. A true Guardian of the woods, and the right Keeper or Shadewood. Nothing happened to pass in or out without his say so. 

Or well, his wife’s. 

Regardless, the ivory angel had instilled in him the rooting urge to help those who were seeking shelter in these cold times, in some strange hope that the assisted would know of the good of the Family. While Cry was partially against simply bringing in strangers and giving them leniency to use their home as a safehouse, he could see the purpose behind it. Soon, souls would flock to them, needing a place to stay. As long as they could earn their keep, they could stay in the Keep. 

Was this raggle of silver silver one of those souls?

Apathetic yet gingerly curious glacial irises laid siege across the body of bones and frailty. And soon enough, the Phantom turned and made his way over, bleeding from the shadows of the massive woods as though he detached from them, himself. 

“Hello,” he began the light greeting. While he struggled to properly converse and not pry as he always managed to do as a recon, he had learned a bit better from Phex as to keeping a conversation from erupting. 
Well, Sort of.

”How ya doin?”

His eyebrows pinched together, crinkling his scarred features.

Oi.

It was all he felt like saying in return. He hadn't asked for company. He hadn't shimmied on into the woods to find out who was here. Bearcut was simply being a dumb dog and sitting on their porch, expecting nothing to come of it. A hind leg kicked absently as he scratched away at that persistent itch. Just dandy. It was pretty obvious he was being a sarcastic arse and another snort escaped him to prove the point. Ya live here or somethin'?

Oh great, another one of those. He could atleast let his hair down and untie the belt, it seemed. Great. The Phantom needed a break from being uptight all the time. 

“Good,” he replied with a gentle smirk twitching the left lip a pinch. Watching the straggler take on the intrusion of irritation on his body, Cry hoped this mongrel wasn’t full of diseases or even parasites. But he seemed partially alive. “I guess we do- been pissin around the entire border and rubbin ourselves across the trees for fun though.” 

This monochrome wasn’t the only one with a silver tongue. 

But Cry meant it in particularly good humor, the evidence lay as jest in his words and lightness in his tone. His body remained rather neutral, tail slightly swishing to punctuate the end of his joke.

”Why?”