Phantom Hollow slow news day

Titmouse didn't know where he was. The last time he'd taken any opiates had been at least a day ago, probably much more — and the last thing he remembered was the strong sense that he was alone. That not even the spirits of the woods were watching him. He was talking to Maegi but she wasn't Maegi - she was the winter, or some vague concept that was fading in the daylight. He was waking up with a throbbing headache, a dry mouth, all those things typically associated with the day after except that his binging had taken on a life of its own. His skin was crawling. He wasn't numb anymore — but his face didn't hurt, having healed a while ago.

He was addled. All he wanted to do was go home, but - the longer he was awake, the more he realized that home was wherever Maegi was. And she wasn't in the woods right now.

Been wanting to meet this guy forever.

Okay, this place was creepy. More and more, Grezig was coming to regret leaving Neverwinter or the Weald to go off to places she wasn’t sure about. She got the creeps from being in here, but she still hadn’t found many recruits for the pack and none were coming into the forest as Siege had predicted. She needed to look elsewhere. 

A strange and… rather beat-up looking wolf emerged in between the trees before her as wended in and out of them. Mostly white fur, with black facial markings… Mostly, though, she noticed the scars. So many. Some were very large. This wolf didn’t look like he’d had a good life… Grezig was hesitant to approach him, not least of all of because he seemed out of it somehow. “Hello?” she tried cautiously, her voice firm but not harsh. She tried to make the word clear and easily understood. Then she waited some distance away, ready to bolt if this overly-scarred male decided to randomly attack her or something. How else would he have so many scars? He obviously got into a lot of fights and she couldn’t be sure whether or not he started them or someone else did.

He might've been missing an eye (and probably some of his brain) but there was nothing intimidating about Titmouse; he'd bulked up considerably since coming to Blackfeather but his vested interest in poppies had kept him slim. He was a tall creature, like his father. And, like Peregrine, he would've cut an impressive figure if his life had unfolded differently. Instead Titmouse was a creature of long lines and strange silhouettes. He was sluggish; his head pounded with a rolling migraine that made his belly twist and churn like a self-contained sea. The boy was hungover and mentally distant, thinking of his aches and pains, but mostly the ache in his chest - his heart - because he was missing his other half so desperately.

The young man didn't notice the other wolf for a long time. Even after they called out - he heard the voice, stirred a little bit with a lift of his head, but when he turned his face to try and survey the forest for the root of the sound it was like he'd forgotten partway. But the scent, feral with sharp notes of pine and spruce, stopped his mind from wandering for a few minutes. He opened his mouth to call out and managed to wheeze some sort of dry, zombie-like sound. It was the best he could do.

There was no response from the male. This bothered Grezig. She wasn’t sure whether to approach him. He didn’t seem as though he had died in the last few minutes, but she honestly couldn’t tell. She took a hesitant step towards him, ears pushed forward in alertness and curiosity. Perhaps morbid curiosity. She saw him open his mouth and heard some kind of… wheeze. She rushed forward, afraid he was gasping for air, or trying to speak to her right before death. She attempted to nudge him when she got close. “Are you all right?” she asked, unsure if he could even hear her.

Not realizing the panic that he'd caused in the other, Titmouse was perplexed - and more than a little defensive - when they came charging at him full of worry. Her approach wasn't antagonistic but he couldn't help but feel like a target, and skittered away from her with a haphazard staccato-step. She seemed genuinely concerned. When his heart stopped thumping wildly in his chest he tried to explain himself again, this time by employing his ruined voice: Tockeng es 'art, he enunciated as much as he could, turning many of the softer sounds in to hard clicks out of necessity. Afterwards he licked his dry lips, appearing thoughtful, hoping that she'd understand. But for good measure, he lifted his chin and gave her a glimpse of the knot of scar tissue there — Talking is hard, he'd said; understatement of his life.

The male quickly backed up away from her, so Grezig reeled herself in and took a few steps back herself to give him some room. She was surprised at herself. She was not a wolf known to be so overly worried for others, but her reaction had been immediate and without thought. Not that it was a bad thing to worry if others were possibly dying. It just surprised her how much she cared—in the moment—for a wolf she didn’t know.

The male said something that was difficult for Grezig to understand, but when he lifted his head to show her the gross scar across his throat, she got the message. He couldn’t speak. Well, that would explain the wheeze earlier. “Ah,” she said awkwardly. “Sorry for overreacting. I thought you were choking—or something.” She looked at him, studying the scars openly and without judgment. Scars were natural to her. A wolf’s life was difficult. It just seemed that this particular wolf had a particularly difficult life. “What are you doing here?” she asked him after a moment, not really sure what else to say and not wanting to just randomly leave. She could smell pack on him, so he was not a candidate for Neverwinter/Deepwood Weald, but it was always good to have allies in different places.

She wasn't put-off by his scar, but she studied it and the attention made him feel a little spot-lighted; still, she wasn't attacking him and seemed to relax a bit once the explanation was given, and her own understanding grew. The question — What are you doing here? — was a good one.

The boy swallowed a lump in his throat; it didn't help that his mouth was so dry. Maybe she could help him, though. Lossh some-wan. Girl, pale, sc-rr, he coughed a little, licked his lips, tried to be clearer: Girrrl name M'gee, my fren, I... Loss her.

The young male really had a hard time talking and Grezig cringed internally at the fact that she’d just asked him a question, thereby forcing him to speak more. But the information he gave her was interesting. “A girl,” she repeated, musing, going back in her mind to try and remember if she’d seen anyone matching that description. The only pale female she knew (or remembered) was Liri, and she was certainly not who the male was looking for. “I am sorry,” Grezig said. “I do not know anyone by that description. If I find her, do you want me to send her your way?” She highly doubted she would find this… M’gee, but it didn’t hurt to try and be kind to others, offer what services you could.

He knew he sounded like an idiot when he spoke, or at least that's how he felt. If he could go through life without speaking a word then he would be happy; that thought roused in him some off-putting humor, remembering the days where he would rally against his enemies with his screeching and his screaming, putting up a verbal fight more often than any other. And now here he was, wishing only for silence.

Ah, but she understood enough. And the offer to help him split his lips in to a small, smile, shy but happy with the effort. Tank-yoo, he murmured, and began to slip away from her. If she needed more information - or if she stopped him for any reason - he'd oblige her, but he really wanted to find his friend and couldn't waste any more time.