Blackfeather Woods I felt your shadow on the way home.

Thread title from "A ghost beneath the tower," by Winston Jazz Routine, it is a good song.

The eerie feeling of being watched did not enter his mind as the ghost drifted towards the line of trees; he did not hear a single call from the resident ravens, did not see the sleek bodies of either raven or crow vying for position in the boughs. There was only silence. An unyielding, almost possessive, quiet. The sky was overcast but that did not stop the blustering of a northern wind—this chill, raking its invisible claws across the expanse above the trees, clustering in the narrow hollow where he had sequestered himself.

A shiver ran along his spine, his thin muscles straining for warmth while the breath of winter gasped, yawned, through Blackfeather. Still, there was nothing. Mou wandered and as he did, he wondered. He thought of Maegi and of her brother Ramsay, and of the many days he had been away, thinking himself to be afflicted by some curse; he had been a lure for danger since his birth and Mou did not think he could subject his beloved family to his terrors. He had reasoned away his flight from the woods, but now that he was faced with emptiness that echoed what he felt inside himself, he doubted his choices.

Mou had never made the right choice. He had tried so hard to be a good person, to change himself, to be worthy of Maegi and — and yet —

The boy lifts his chin and stares up through the sickle-shaped branches overhead, watches the drifting too-dark clouds with his one good eye, and tries to call out, knowing he cannot make a sound. Knowing, intimately, that even if he had been able to call for her, Maegi would not want to see him again; he had betrayed her in his escape, and he did not deserve her forgiveness or her love. All that he deserved was right here: this hollow feeling, as if he is the last living creature in a graveyard of nothing.

She avoided the place where Anansi had died, loath to see it, that solitary tail. . . She couldn't move the tree and so there he would rest, rot, decay. No proper burial, no ceremony. She couldn't bear it. The thought of her boy meeting Jaes alone—

Please, tresy, know I am with you in spirit!

Hitching a sharp breath, Maegi instead diverted course and headed elsewhere, looking for the nearest cache. She was dreadfully sober; the pain she'd dulled over the past days was beginning to return. Physical, spiritual, existential—all of it, returning. Overcoming her. She couldn't bear it.

For a brief moment, the pale shape on the path ahead could have been Anansi, at least to her. Just one fleeting moment. But the feeling that she was looking at a ghost did not ebb, for surely it must be one if it was here.

The missing eye. The slender form. That scent. . .

Did ghosts have a scent?

A devastated sort of anger rose up within her, and Maegi did a 180, turning on her heel and stalking away into the forest. No. He had no right to be here, and she had no patience to deal with someone who'd left her in the lurch.

He is holding his breath. The chill in the air seeps in to his skin, prickling along his shoulders, the nape of his neck, makes his hips tremble and twitch. He takes a slow breath inward and as his ribs expand he feels the incongruity of pain shudder through his sides from where the cougar had caught him, days ago.

His ribs had been bloodied but not quite broken; bruised at the very least, leaking where the claws had caught across the bones like a xylophone. Slowly Mou inhales; slowly he exhales, and forces himself to imagine the pain ebbing with the action, meditative... And he catches a scent.

Her scent.

But when he turns to look her way—surprised to have found such a fresh sign of his beloved—the dark side of his face meets where she was standing, and he doesn't see her retreating figure, doesn't hear it either. The scent is a ghostly remnant of what once stood here; of the family they had tried to become and the home they had tried to build from the ruins of old gods. Mindlessly, he turns and sulks through the trees in the opposite direction.

Perhaps one day, when she was older, Maegi would be able to walk away without playing games. Without looking back.

But he'd come here, right? He'd come here presumably to see her, right? So why, when she craned her neck to sneak a glance, did she see him walking away? Hadn't they nearly crossed paths—

Oh, okay, just WALK AWAY like you always do! she shrieked, tears coming to her eyes, spilling over. She felt the sudden urge to run herself, quelled it, stood with her legs trembling. What the FUCK, Mou?! What gives you the right to just c-come ba—

She retched suddenly, bile-tinged drool hanging from her lips. A sob escaped her, two, three, one for each of her dead children. If only he'd been here. . . Maybe they would be alive if he'd stayed. Bastard.

The violent gale of words blew to his ears, and the ghost lingered with a paw raised as if he hadn't heard it; in truth he was confused, unsure of what was happening. He had not seen her—but there she was, a typhoon of emotions spiraling out of control and screaming, crying, calling for him. The boy was stumbling back to where she waited, his long strides making short work of the dark glen's uneven topography. Even with the newest layers of dried leaf-litter, he knew and trusted in the forest.

She was vomiting, or dry-heaving, he couldn't be sure, and looking like a frightful mess. But she was also so beautiful to him for her familiarity, her pale face causing his heart to lurch in to his throat, the warmth emanating from her body where it was poised drew him closer; yet he didn't touch her, didn't try to breach the limit of her personal universe. Much as he wanted to—desperately, needed to—Mou did not know if he would be welcome.

By the way she spoke, choking on words and on bile, he thought of himself as a pestilence incarnate. That by being too close or by having any contact he would ruin her, wholly, and could not dare to get closer. But he chuffed in his silent way, imploring with his eye wide, coiling upon himself in a tangle of apology. He couldn't say anything—but oh, how he wished his voice had not been taken in that moment!

If she had anything at all in her stomach, it would have been vomit. But the famine had been brutal and she could only dry heave, overcome by nausea and by distress. He came closer and she was torn between cringing away and drawing near; paralyzed by choice, she stayed put, her ribcage shaking with ragged breaths, her eyes fixed on the ground.

Why did you leave me? Maegi asked in a small, hollow voice, gaze focused on a dead leaf. Brown, tattered. She could identify. Why did you leave us? I needed you; we needed you, and you just. . .were gone. Without a word.

Each word frosted over with sorrow, distrust, anger. She felt him so near and oh, if she could only embrace him— But even the thought of that brought to mind her dead, pestilent twins, Nirgali, Ninazu (his!) and her crushed child, Anansi (his!) and Sakhmet, Sobek (his!) and the dying forest (his!) and her body, so weak, so hungry (forever his!). All of this, he'd forsaken.

How could she forgive him?

Why did you leave me?

What could he say to her that would fix this? Even if he had a voice, how could he put it in to words? Make sense of the shadow in the sky that had chased him, taken him? The danger that he felt, the horror of being taken and of waking up somewhere strange, cold, devoid of anything natural, his brain fuzzy with the drugs—with something grabbing at him, pinching at him, lifting him, contorting his body while he had been semi-conscious but unable to exert control? The abduction had left him so addled that it had been blocked from his mind almost immediately, but it came to him now, in flashes. Waking up in a box that smelled like minerals, being unable to move for many hours—the beating of giant wings as the black creature lifted off again and left him stranded, in the middle of nowhere.

How could he explain this, or the sacrifice he made for the sake of the woods? Thinking that his lingering might endanger them all. Convinced of some sort of curse, this shadow, this wingless, soulless monster watching from the sky, eager to steal him away at a moments notice? He could barely make sense of it himself; but Mou had done all that he could for the safety of his family, for Maegi. His one eye was staring at her as she questioned him, staring as she looked upon the dirt, staring as she wept and staring as she ached in a way that he could never, ever for the life of him fathom.

He had run because he had been afraid—but willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of her.

But he could not tell her.

So, in silence, he flattened to the earth in a mournful puddle.

When he lowered himself to the ground, she wanted to attack him. Rip into him, destroy his stupid flesh and fling his stupid bones everywhere. How dare he?! How dare he not have words for her after all this time? She knew he was reserved in speech but at least he could talk! He spoke before. . .

Get up! Maegi snapped, sadness replaced by a harsh, burning anger. She prodded at him with her good forepaw, losing her balance slightly. What the fuck?! Answer me, goddamn it! Why did you leave?!

She was sick of no answers. She was sick of no word. She was sick and goddamn tired of everyone leaving her without even so much as a glance behind them. Maegi was done being the one that wolves so willingly left behind—especially wolves that purported to love her. Like Ramsay. . .like Mou. . .

He hurried to push against the earth when she rebuked him, scrambling back to a seated position, although it was unstable. He almost faltered and fell back to earth again when she continued to shout; his ears fanning back, front, back again, slick. His breathing was faster now; rapid from a growing anxiety, frightened almost that Maegi was going to follow through - or up and leave him, as he could not speak, could not give her what she demanded. Mou hadn't been able to speak for a while now and he'd never felt the pressure of his unwanted silence as much as he did right this second. He whined - or, tried to - but it came out as a wheeze through a frown.

Then he was on his paws properly, standing, stilted. He shook all over and bowed, thrusting his forelimbs forward as if in a yoga pose, ducking his head so the black band could be seen properly against the backdrop of white fur. He lurched to the earth on his belly and kicked at the ornament with a hind foot, letting it spiral even though the shifting band pulled at his coat uncomfortably. Look at this! Look! He was trying to show her -- this bizarre thing he had woken up with, this noose. It strangled him more than his silence.

This is why! The black demon shape, the shadow, it had come for him and left him marked with this!
I ran to keep you safe! He wished so desperately that he could say, that he could explain. His one eye was pleading as he looked at Maegi now, his body stilling, breathing ragged.

Very few things could have shaken her from the rage she'd flown into—but this did. She stopped yelling, prodding, demanding, staring open-mouthed at the thing around his neck. The collar. . . She felt the tightening around her own throat, and swallowed, taking a step back, lips moving soundlessly as she tried to work out her jumbled thoughts.

I had one of those, once, Maegi said in disbelief. I woke up one day in the field and it was there. A moon later, I woke up one morning and it was gone. H-how long have you had it? Would it leave him, eventually, as hers had, or would this forever mark Mou as something alien, foreign?

Not that he wasn't alien and foreign already; the troubled Redhawk would always be somewhat of an outlier, no matter where he went. He attracted attention.

Guilt. Goddamn it. She felt it seeping in, whittling away at her resolve. Her anger was slipping from her grasp, and soon all she would want to do was embrace him. Forget about the problems and troubles of their past, and focus only on the present—and a potential future. If he'd stay.

God, he had to stay.

The fire of her rage subsided quickly but not in its entirety; there was a moment of realization and she looked at him like he wasn't of this earth, perhaps as if he were himself a hellish beast. It would explain why so many recoiled from him. Why hatred flowed from strangers so readily. Why his life had been a tumult of loathing and bad luck. But there was recognition too - she saw the band and seemed to know it.

When she spoke he listened aptly, and she recounted an experience that mirrored his own - which surprised him more than anything. Here he was, having avoided his beloved and his home for months, only to learn that his experience wasn't a singular thing, nor that unique! But she explained that her own band had been removed at some point; perhaps his avoidance of the shadow prevented that? But why would the beast descend and take him in the first place? Why give this marker only to take it back? It left him with questions and confusion.

H-how long have you had it? she asks finally, and his face is inscrutable; he stares at the dirt, frowning, until the expression melts from him and he is suddenly a frenzy of action again: he draws his blunt claws against the forest floor and after a few scratches there is a left in the dirt. Sun. Sunlight -- summer? Is that enough to explain?

She watched him scribble, brow furrowed. It didn't mean much to her—just a circle. A circle with. . .fronds? Flower? she guessed (wrongly, of course). Yet it still led to the correct reasoning: So there were flowers, still? They weren't dead? It's been a while. . . It made sense. He'd left in the summer.

He'd left her in the summer, but perhaps for a valid reason. Maegi still found it hard to forgive him, but she was warming up to the idea. Especially if his heart had been in the right place.

The Nona sighed, her trembling beginning to cease as she grew used to the situation. Are you going to stay? she asked bluntly, staring at him with eyes that suggested this homecoming must be his last. She would accept him into her home no more after this. Maegi didn't take kindly to those who kept leaving.

(Despite her own history of doing just that. But, you know. . .details. . .)

I tried to reply to this on the ferry and I guess I didn't have a strong enough connection, rip.

She looked to what he'd scrawled and did not see what he had intended, but in the end it did not matter. His brows creased as he listened; but eventually she got to the conclusion of summer or at least knew it had been a long time. Most days he did not notice the collar at all - but right now, as she had shared her own tale of the black band and the terrifying force that bestowed it, the collar felt heavier than ever before. Too close to his precious throat. He felt strangled by it, and shook his shoulders in a flurry.

When her question arose, Mou's tail lifted and wagged, his features softening. He opened his mouth and mouthed yes but partway through began to nod, slowly, then fast, his tail wagging quickly -- but then he paused, the momentum going out of him as he considered, maybe, that Maegi might be asking for another reason. What if she didn't want him anymore? His expression became somber then, drawn across the dirt submissively as he scooted closer to her and lightly probed with his nose at her pale fur.

If she permitted his close proximity then he'd have his answer - but if she struck him down, he would take it as a message to leave, for good.

She observed this strange, tentative dance, afraid that he was about to offer some kind of rebuttal. Instead, her shoulders sagged in utter relief as he pressed his nose into her fur and drew closer. She weaved herself, catlike, into his embrace, feeling the tears come again. They were soundless this time, though, and barely shook her bony frame.

They slid down, down, to mingle in his fur, to cloak him in her scent once more.

Little Anansi is dead, Maegi whispered, and so is Cassiopeia. Trees fell on them both and crushed them. We live in the meadow, away from that danger. But it's not the same. . .it never will be the same. . . But maybe it could return to normalcy, if he were to stay. If he were to stay with her.

I still love you, she breathed, and meant it.

She crowded close and he let her, welcomed her, folded around her eagerly. She was crying. He could taste the salt in the air and soon, he felt the dampness, and shifted slightly to press himself against her more fervently; but then she began to speak.

The name of the boy did not register much of a response from him (he did not know the children well, and could hardly remember their birth mother), but when Maegi spoke of Cassiopeia his breath hitched. He knew that name — that girl who had brought him to the woods the first time, the one who started him down this path. She had been his friend, he thought. Thinking back on it now (and in the wake of her death) he was not so sure; perhaps she had always been something malevolent. An agent of the forest's gods intent on pulling him in to their dark mire.

He was left with his thoughts and nothing more; he could not speak after all, and would not bring this up even if he could have. It did not matter in the end. What's done was done, and it pained him to see Maegi mourning in such a seemingly endless fashion. Where were the spirits of the wood? Did they no longer grant her - or them - protection?

I still love you, the woman sighed against him, breaking him from thoughts which had no purpose. He nosed against her cheek, planted a shy kiss there with his tongue, and merely held her in silence; he was here, he would always be here. He loved her too much to stay away.

She felt his kiss and exhaled, long and soft into the chilly air. Pressed gently against him, comforted for the first time in many days. The world dissolved around them and it was just Maegi and Mou in a sea of darkness, of nothingness, of triviality.

Perhaps if things were better, she would have held onto her anger and held fast to the desire to chase him away. There would be no second chance.

But her state of mind was fragile and cold and the warmth he provided, especially in this moment, was enough to forgive and forget. At least for now. She had no room in her heart for past grudges. Life, as it turned out, was too short.

If he stayed, he stayed, and she would have no further quarrel with him.