Sheepeater Cliff escape velocity five-point-six

He's a little worse for wear than he was last he was on the shore, but Deimos persists in his travels. His guide, the red eye of Antares, is barely visible tonight.. but it's there. He's always been one to let fates guide him how they may, throwing his well-being to the test by simply drifting on whatever celestial winds favor him. He's hoping wherever he ends up it'll be exciting.

Unfamiliar with the cliffs, Deimos pulls his gaze from the sky in time to see he's walked into what appears to be a stony cairn. It's dark, and there's bones of just about every order of animal Deimos has seen strewn about. He wonders if they have perished due to the fall from above or if they were from a giant's past meal. Either way, he's not keen on finding out and hightails past the cliffs in an efficient boogey.

she suspects she had been here before.

leaving Rusalka behind, whatever had happened there, she made for Kintla. though she cannot recall if she had, been here that is. either way, she was here now. so where was the harm in forgetting? Huntington's sunken shape made its way to the location, keen to explore anything she could grasp. it was by this design she saw a dark shape shoot across her field of vision. pausing mid-step, the woman would recognize the other for a wolf. "something the matter back there?" she'd ask quietly, though vocally enough. if the man didn't hear her, she would not take offense. her head tilted curiously behind them, wondering what had spooked the other so very much.

He's maybe fifty feet from where he had been spooked when a voice calls out behind him. It's unwelcome, considering how macabre the crypt he's standing in is.. That's when he realized, that's exactly what this place was: a graves' end for unwitting souls like him.

Jesus, he hates that idea. It sends a shiver down his back, but Deimos is no coward. He turns around, expecting a vision of the ghastly and getting a wolf instead. She's smaller than him, but much more assured. He notices right away that she has unusual markings, her face covered in a moon-like sheen of white. It's kind of peculiar, making him wonder if it was painted on by chalky paste or if it was natural. Either way, he's caught in the bright yellow of her stare. "You didn't see the bones?" He can't believe she hasn't. There's so many of them you could make a bone palace out of them, and still have bones left over to make a pallisade surrounding it. It's really not his tea. "I'm thinking it's a place for the dead, and not the living. I don't exactly have an interest in joining them."

bones. Huntington's insides curled in delight to find such a place. though the man had rightfully found out first. from her position she could see a bit of them, jutting out of the earth. he seemed less than pleased to continue to be here. "bones cannot harm you" unless one impaled themselves upon them that is... "the dead are loathsome beings, yes" she would add as if not rebuking his opinion and soothing his mind "but the real threat comes from the living" yes, the dead was a comforting friend compared to the unpredictable live ones.

this was not a threat to him, merely a state of the facts. "all I see of them is wasted potential. a life snuffed out. left to rot. unloved. unwelcomed" the woman's eyes bulged slightly as she leaned forward "does that not make you weep for them, these unknown victims?" even she could appreciate the despairing state of this location. if the man could not at least sympathize, or come to terms with the aspect of death, well... his life would be quite sorry indeed. always running from the reaper. such a dreary life.

She says bones cannot hurt you, and that is where she is wrong. Deimos' skeptical gaze passes through her dismissively. Didn't she see it wasn't the bones that had him on edge, but the origin of them? What had happened to all of those souls and who had extinguished them?

No, he doesn't weep for them. They're dead, and he's alive.. and he plans to stay that way.

He's flat and rather condescending when he replies, and while he doesn't mean to be rude he can't help but feel she doesnt' see the forest for the trees. "Bones can't hurt you, but whatever killed them can. If you wanna hang out in a graveyard be my guest, but I enjoy living, so..." He's already bustling off, his bushy tail scooting behind him as he goes.

was that not what she had said? the living were more dangerous than the dead. countless practiced hours halted her huff, the roll of her pale eyes. coward she thought idly, finding no solstice in the man's actions. a weak spine. something to be rid of easily, else he would drag her down with him. and she bites back a sharp reply, choosing not to find his claws meeting her coat if she says what she thinks.

he was not worth the effort. Huntington sniffs the air, the remnants of other souls passing freely by. there is no one else here. and she believes that to be fine, for without a word she turns back to where the bones were. if he wanted to live he was just another great disappointment in the world. yet another who did not take a chance upon the things that usually were not given effort. 

"farewell then" she finally replies, choosing to remain here for whatever reason she believes to be sane.

So, the crazy lady went back to the charnel, and you know what? Deimos couldn't be arsed to stop her. He had felt she was strange and she only proved that, by skipping off between alabaster rows of bones like she was in a playground.

He doesn't stop, even if he wanted to for a second - company would have been nice, but then he reminds himself he only likes company sometimes, and that's sane company. Deimos is not so sure she falls into that category..

So without even a name in exchange, Deimos is audi, ready to put it all in the rear view mirror and never think about this place again.