Blackfeather Woods feed me

will roll if it comes to that! PM me if you would rather me do it now <3 trespassing.

Beaten and bloody, Shego recovered through sleep and sleep alone. She did not have it in her to be angry; she was hungry. Hungry was all she was. Stripped of skin in several places, stripped of more than that in others, Shego and her mind had all but faded to its most primal state. Each step forward was a stumble. She needed to rest. She needed to eat. Eat.

How she came to these woods she did not know; here she was, surging past the border at a stumbling clip before she fell and closed her eyes. And then she rose, weak, confounded, blinking. She knew this place; a spark of light flashed in otherwise dull eyes. It had been years since she had seen this place, and Shego gasped.

This is meant, she said with a laugh, sacrifice; my blood sacrifice. My blood. Home, home again! She laughed, the sound harsh. Where was that pretty girl? Where was she? Was her eye still here? It would tell her what she sought to know, she believed. Pretty princesses and their pretty blood make for the best of all sacrifices.

Still she did not want her blood. Just that lost eye. That lost eye that would tell her all.

. . .sacrifice, my blood sacrifice. My blood. Home.

Any foreign voice within the forest would have caught her attention, so freshly home, but the words that floated nearby were downright sinister. A laugh followed, and Maegi bristled, hackles raised and tail flagged as she sought out the unfamiliar presence.

A dark woman—could have been your garden-variety Melonii, except her eyes were a bright, sickly sort of green. They cut through the woods like twin beacons; Maegi squared herself and march-hobbled toward the stranger, her chin lifted in a defiant stare. She ought to call for backup, and soon. . .

But. Let's just see how this plays out.

Who are you? the Nona demanded, coming within a pace or two of the she-wolf. What about blood sacrifice?

The ghost had been infrequent in his visits to the wood; time after time, he thought he saw something between the trees and would be spooked back to the meadow, or something would take flight overhead and he would think of the dark ominous shape which had stolen him away before—the creature that left him with his noose. He wanted to see that creature again, to somehow entreat it to remove the collar, but he was too afraid. The days where he visited the woods, Mou would camp and sleep until the dusk fell, and then emerge again. Many days were spent like this; ignorant of the goings-on across the territory except when the night would fall, and he would rise, to lurk and to watch.

On this rare occasion of being awake and active, he spotted the familiar shape of Maegi slinking along. Her gait was telling: her limp helped with identification and as quick as she'd adapted herself to be, the ghost could catch up with ease. He kept himself at a distance from her as a sign of respect, presuming she was trying to hunt or some such. When her voice rose in the air he stopped, looked around—and with one good eye focused upon his beloved, he saw the shadow just beyond. At first (because of the distance and the muddy darkness) he thought it could've been Ramsay returned.

His approach was silent. As he came upon the pair he kept hidden, more-so out of happenstance than anything; being a mute had its privileges. The fur along his raggedy spine was raised and Mou's molten gold eye was shrewd as it looked upon the stranger, realizing it was a lone wolf, which made him nervous. A part of him wanted to charge ahead and scare them off, but... Maegi was handling it. Plus, the stranger had yet to do anything to offend.

He was close to Maegi. She probably didn't know, but if she did she didn't mind because he wasn't chased away.
But she was patrolling, he thinks. Or maybe searching for items Jaes wanted her to find, for the shrine. OR pile. Altar. So many names he didn't know how to distinguish yet. Maybe they were all the same. 
But a foreign shadow passed through the trees, a voice carried towards them.
Blood. Home.

His fur prickled and emerged with Maegi, but kept silent. He would help if he needed to. He was still small enough to attack from below, like with the coyote.
However, Mou came. The absent body staggered about and he kept away from him. He was unstable and Rowan didn't like it; it was dangerous. That's why he kept hidden from the one-eyed dog.

When the other came, Shego was slow to notice. At least it seemed that way. Lethargic as she had become given all that had transpired Shego, the lights that had seemed to turn on short-circuited; her gaze had turned dull again.

Enter the first wolf. Who had truly entered some time ago; it just took Shego several minutes longer to process this. The manner in which Shego's head turned toward Maegi could only be described as drunkenly. When her gaze settled upon her, the switch seemed to be turned back on. This one was so very different than how she had remembered her.

Potema! She greeted; when she had known her, she had been just a little girl with one-eye. Now she had two, and yet for its return she looked all the more horrific. Potema, you look wretched; oh, blood sacrifice! It was my blood you see—my blood, others blood... ritual, unintentional, and yet it has brought me home again—you again, Shego laughed, the sound as shrill as her own voice, shaking her head in disbelief. All others there were utterly ignored. The Ghost was invisible, but even if he had not been, Shego might not have recognized him there. Rowan, either.

Only Potema. Potema who she had lost. Potema who was full-grown now.

The effect the greeting had upon Maegi couldn't have been more pronounced. The Nona reeled back as if struck, an ugly look of shock contorting her face. This quickly morphed into a scowl, a growl simmering at the base of her throat, her lips pulled back to reveal her teeth.

If you're a friend of Potema's, you are no friend of mine, Maegi spat, eyes alight. Her flared nostrils found Mou's scent, and Rowan's, too; good. She would have back-up if need be. You need to leave. Now.

A part of her, though, was curious. A twisted kind of wonder, but curious all the same. What knew this woman of her mother? What was this 'blood sacrifice' she spoke of? Was the trespasser Melonii after all? This scene reeked of her family's awful religion, or something darker still.

The stranger's voice wasn't grating, but there was a quality to it that disturbed Mou. An unhinged, somewhat manic sound. When they mentioned Potema—and subsequently caused Maegi's teeth to flash like a grimace of disgust—the ghost moved to intercept; he flowed forth like a mist, coming up alongside the woman with his hackles bristling and tail raised, even though he did not have a right to such a posture anymore. He huffed through his nose, moved so his good eye was trained on the dark stranger, but brushed his shoulder against Maegi as if to calm her as he lunged that final step. He would not interfere unless she told him to, of course.

His eyes darted to the movement of one-eye and quickly dodged away from him, moving into the vacated space. He didn't feel in danger now. His attention turned back to the stranger, who seemed familiar in some fashion. 
Perhaps it was the sharper than usual face, the gangly legs, and unnatural feel.
A demented coyote, dressed in wolf's skin.

He growled low, quietly threatening, staring hard at the stranger with a raised tail. Maegi didn't like her. His ears slicked back as his teeth bared, his tone not changing.
Sometimes, he felt bigger than what he was.

Wrapping this vaguely since Shego is inactive. @Titmouse @Rowan will give y'all a few days to respond before archiving.

Whatever answer the intruder gave wasn't good enough. From the moment "Potema" had left her lips, Maegi had been prejudiced against her. Her tail flagging, she drew strength from Mou and Rowan by her side, and let loose a rumbling snarl, fur in a wild bristle as if caught by electricity.

Whether it took just a show or actual, physical effort to drive the woman from their home. . .it didn't matter. But Maegi would not rest until she was gone, and once she was, she turned back to the others. She let her guard down, visibly shaken.

Thanks, she murmured briefly, touching her nose to Rowan's forehead and brushing against Mou, before stumbling off into the woods. Potema—blood—sacrifice— it all kept ringing in her ears and she couldn't rid herself of the noise.

Only when she reached the inner sanctum of the forest, quiet, calm trees, did she relax, yet only by a fraction.

Did she really resemble her mother so much?