The Heartwood Oh, hey mom. I had the craziest dream! I was the unicorn wizard.

So, he got distracted. It didn't help that Teekon had been boring the last time that he had come around — Meldresi was dead, Miraak was there, but was hanging with some pretty hostile people — so he left. Big deal. There'd be someone else. Meldresi was high profile — priority number one, and everyone else knew that he was lazy as shit unless food or dick was involved. He didn't even know why they bothered sending him.

So he fucked around for a few years, travelling up and down the coasts, avoiding Teekon Wilds until he finally manned up and went there. He had no idea where the Woods were from the west, so he wandered around, going up and down, left and right.

He was traipsing through the bright woods in the flatlands, wondering if it had been a good idea in the first place. They could have all died by now. He had other jobs he could do, things he was actually good at. He grumbled to himself, blaming everyone but himself. Wolf smell blew into his face and he knew he had to change course as soon as possible, until

He smelled his mother, @Megara, and took pause.

What.

She wanders away from Phantom Hollow on multiple occasions, unable to quell the perpetual restlessness within her. Damien seems to have things under control enough for her to travel short distances, anyway. She tries to hunt, gather herbs, be useful. . . But mostly, she is trapped within her own mind, warring with her own thoughts. Ruminating on the worst possible outcomes to their situation.

The only thing that could have roused her from her negativity this moment was a sudden, familiar smell on the wind—and a voice that called out in query.

Megara lifts her head and her breath leaves her for an instant as she stares through the trees at a shadow, its indigo gaze mirroring hers. She inhales and tears come to her eyes; the crone breaks into a slow but bounding trot, traveling faster as she approaches her son, her son!—

Malcanthet, she whispers, drawing within a few paces of the boy-turned-man. She gives him a long look over, noting that he is just as fine a specimen as any Melonii should be. It has been a long time since she has seen him, but a mother never forgets her children. What has brought you here?

The scent enthralled him, confused him with its stark familiarity. Mother was here. Had Blackfeather Woods grown since he left? Had more Meloniis arrived? Is she —

He could hear paws hurtling towards him,and that familiar smell grows, to his confusion and delight. He whips around and sees that familiar face, aged like fine wine but still the same woman he knew to have birthed him. Mother! He echoes back, his grin splitting across his face. She was here! How why when, so many questions and emotions flooded his mind and body. He greeted her as if he was a child again, tucking his tail between his legs and licking at her chin.

As he stood up straight once more, he was taken aback by how it had been since she had last seen her. He was taller than her. I could ask the same for you!

Oh, he greets her with such joy; she is overwhelmed, suddenly, and feels her tail beat at her hocks. You know I wander, my son, she whispers, grinning through the haze of sentiment. I always have. Have you followed me down that road? Megara asks, gaze drinking him in.

The perfect Melonii. Sleek and dark, with indigo eyes. She and Mondrar had done well, she notes, pride filling her from nose to toes.

But where are his siblings? Perhaps he does not even know, and she is afraid to ask.

He knew that she had. She had been there and gone in his life. He had never resented her for it — ok that was a lie, he had for a while when he was young, but he understood her nature now. He was more accepting of people's natures after delving into the depths of Sanguine's teachings. Why bother judging? She had given birth to him and his sisters, nursed him, made sure that he grew up. That was all he could ask from her. Yes. He lied. It felt easy, but he was afraid of her knowing. She was a follower of Mephala, a Melonii for much longer that he. He was afraid of her knowing that he had shirked his duties, though it was true that he had followed her in that path. A wanderer at heart. Really, it wasn't his fault — they chose a bad person to seek out his aunt and uncle. I came by here a year ago. I saw Miraak. Then I left. I came back around just out of curiosity. He cocked his head at her. Have you found him yet? I saw him at Blackfeather Woods. Where Meldresi made her home. Perhaps there were more Meloniis around here, congregating here to form a new sect.

The mention of Miraak sends a pang through her; oh, she misses her brother so! She shakes her head, face falling a little. When I went to Blackfeather Woods, the guardian there told me he knew not of anyone named Miraak, Megara responds. He must have moved on from there, gone elsewhere. Or died. But that went without saying.

Her spirits rose again as she thought of the family nearby. But Meldresi's son—your cousin—has assembled a band of Melonii nearby. If you wish to stay. . .

Megara trails off, staring at Malcanthet. She would be the last to force him to do anything. She knows all too well the yearning of a wanderer's heart, and how cruel it is to shackle such souls to one place. But—she does hope that he chooses to remain with her, with the others. He will be such a nice balance to the feral Moath. . .

@Megara sorry for the wait! Life stuff came in.

He knew what his mother was thinking. It was hard not to consider it. With Miraak's age, it would not have been long until his demise. If that were true then his mother only had two siblings left: Meldor and M'aiq. It was unfortunate that the latter was still around when greater people like Meldresi and Miraak were gone. He hummed, the noise low with concern and introversion.

But there were more of them! A whole band of his family — distant as some of them may be. Sure! he grinned, his tail thumping. It would be nice to be with family again. Who else is here? Even if it was for a little while. The truth was that he no clear goal in life. No idea what to do. But if his mother and some of his relatives were nearby, then he would not mind finding his purpose with them.

not a problem <3

She hadn't expected her son to answer in the affirmative; his response, readily given, pleases her more than she will ever let on. Megara allows her lips to broaden again in a joyous smile, even as she runs through the list of names in her head, some more hazy than others. His name will be most notable of all, there. Her son has returned.

The crone begins to walk in the direction of Phantom Hollow, gesturing gently with her muzzle for Malcanthet to follow. Damien—Meldresi's son—leads alongside his mate, Nyx, Megara explains, padding along slowly, face serene in contemplation. They were just blessed with a litter of four pups. My grandson—your nephew—Midar is their second-in-command.

She hums gently, thinking. There are a few others. Moath. . .your brother. He is here. Her lips pull tight in a worried frown. Most Melonii were content to wade ankle-deep in darkness; Moath had all but drowned himself in it. She did not trust him. The rest are some Melonii, some not. All, however, are loyal to Damien. And there are more Melonii scattered elsewhere.

Malcanthet trotted after his mother, dutiful in his newfound loyalty for the wandering crone. It was hard not to after years of separation and longing that he thought he did not have. Names began flooding from her mouth, things that he knew had to absorb quickly. Damien and Nyx. His new leaders. But it was hard to do so without faces to place them to. For now they lingered in his mind, hovering in quiet shadowy forms of wolves. A few he recognized: Midar. His nephew! Malcanthet grinned. Is Milar here as well? Of his siblings, he was closest to Malene, staying by her side as she grew round and eventually gave birth to the twin boys. She never told him the father, but Malcanthet filled the role as best he could. It would be nice to see how the two of them, or at least one of them, had grown since. 

His joy dissipated with the. Like his mother, Malcanthet did not trust Moath. In fact, he feared him. The Meloniis produced many personalities; rogues and bastards, loveable and smug, wise priests and scholars and dreamers, fiercely loyal warriors. But they also created monsters. He had heard of Miraak's son, the one who drank wolf's blood. But he had seen Moath firsthand.Hmm. Malcanthet said, now concerned. I trust he is behaving well? He had committed himself now. And given that this was his family, he was reluctant to leave so quickly. Especially not after seeing his mother for the first time in, what, years?

fade this out? <3

She shakes her head at the first question, looking a little sad. I haven't seen him, no, Megara responds. And I haven't thought to ask Midar. They always seemed so close; I suppose I am afraid of the answer. . . Gods help the young man if his littermate is with the Void. Losing siblings tended to be excruciating—

But then there is Moath, and she gives a wry grimace in reply, quietly pensive for a long moment.

As well as he can, she finally says, shrugging. I must admit, I cannot keep proper track of him, not with everything that has happened here. I hope nothing terrible has gotten past me. It is all too likely, though, that she has missed red flags, warning signs. That has always been the way of her savage son.

Suddenly overwhelmed, she slows to pad beside Malcanthet, moving to brush her shoulder against his. Praise Mephala you are here, Megara whispers fervently, eyes full of love as she looks at her boy. Wolves like Malcanthet make the Moaths of the world much easier to deal with, after all.

Yep!

Milar was not here. It was disappointing, but he could only hope that the young man was alright. His mother was right to be concerned. He was even more concerned for their mother's safety — were they scattered or was she a victim too? He was close to Malene; he had helped her raise her twin sons. To know nothing of her or of one of her children, a young man that he helped bring to adulthood, panged at his heart. He wondered how his mother felt.

Moath was an enigma, just as he was at home. Moath was something else, a creature of the Void more than any other living creature he had met. Malcanthet was aware of the loyalty that his elder brother had for their family, but he did not know to what extent that loyalty would last. I can keep an eye on him for you, He shook his head and chortled briefly. Or I'll try.

He tucked his mother's head under his chin, glad to have her close for the first time in what, years? He could not remember the last time they had embraced but drank in every second of this one. I'm glad I found you. he murmured.