Wheeling Gull Isle What gets out kool-aid stains?

Tags for reference, open to anyone.

The island had been barraged by sleet for so many days that Titmouse had lost track of time. It was colder than ever before, so cold that the tide pools along the territory edge had frozen solid. A few mornings, as he'd gone to do his rounds and warm his thin limbs up, he'd found himself slipping across sheets of ice. His paws didn't leave a trail in the sand anymore, it was so cold that the dampness usually present had become something more solid. It was bizarre, and to some degree, frightening.

The strangest part of this cold snap was the eerie quiet. The forest was empty of all sound, except the occasional gust of wind that whipped through the spires or rustled the boughs. Further inland on the tiny claim, where the wolves had been roosting in their communal caves or beneath the mighty old tree (Willis), everyone seemed to be quite subdued. Like any effort to do anything was too much.

Titmouse had been keeping to himself when the silence was broken; there was a voice scattered in the snowfall that sounded so familiar that his heart swelled, and he felt hope creep out of the cracks in his heart like a weed fighting through pavement. But he didn't go to investigate. The sound dwindled and died, and he presumed he was merely imagining it. That voice he had longed to hear for weeks, the call that would have fixed everything if it had come a few days sooner — but now, Titmouse didn't trust it. He didn't know if @Maegi was really here or if he was making it up, filling the emptiness of winter with her ghost.

So he did not go to investigate; he spent a few moments standing still among the shifting winds, and then continued on with his patrol. It would be hours before he'd reappear at the territory heart, worn out from the exertion and shivering from the cold. In his teeth he clutched a stick — or he'd thought it was a stick when he'd found it — for @Moorhen's collection. As he dropped it beneath the protective boughs of @Spruce Willis, Titmouse recognized it for what it was: a large femur void of any distinguishing marks. It must have been quite old to lose its flavor.

He hadn't come to her initial call, which worried her. She'd been told he was here, which was good—but that also meant he was probably still angry with her for sending him away. Knowing that made this all the more difficult, Maegi followed traces of his scent from the strand into the forest, and then deeper into the territory. All the while begging herself not to be a coward and turn back, suddenly.

And then she saw him.

He had placed a bone—a stick? no, a bone—in a pile of assorted other sticks and bones(?) at the base of the old spruce tree. Maegi's ears folded all the way back, and then came up again, her stomach churning even as her heart leapt with joy to see him. Bile rose in her throat as she opened her mouth to speak; it stayed agape, silently, for a long moment before she even made a sound.

Mou, the Melonii called softly, taking a few steps forward. Mou, can we. . .can we talk?

When she called to him again her voice was closer, but not warmer. It was filled with apprehension. He turned his head and cocked his ears in the direction of that voice, feigning interest in case he really was making it up; it wasn't the first time his addled brain had produced a ghost as company. Titmouse had ingested so many poppies in his short span of life that he should've been dead by now from overdoses, but fate granted him flashes of not-quite-there life instead. Maybe this was one of those — a flashback to happier times.

Maegi had appeared to him before. In the weeks since her departure, he'd thought she'd been with him on multiple occasions. By the sea - where the surf slammed the rocks; among the shadows of the woods - grinning, watching; and with the coming of the winter storm, Titmouse often thought he spied her figure drifting with the ice. He saw her, but didn't move any closer. A part of him knew it was really her this time — it must have, because he felt something stirring in his chest when he fixed his eye upon her. But he didn't move to intercept, and just watched in silence. What could he say anyway?

He didn't say a word. Whether he was in shock at seeing her or still furious, she didn't know. There was nothing in his face to indicate either. Maegi kept moving forward, tail all but between her legs, eyes hollow and pleading.

Mou, I'm sorry, she said, her voice not outright desperate but getting there, slowly. I sent you away to keep you safe. I wanted so badly for you to come home with me. But it wasn't safe for you anywhere but here.

She swallowed hard, stopping a few paces away. I didn't go home, anyway, she whispered. A raven led me to another place of the Dark Brotherhood. I stayed for a while, but. . .I missed you, Maegi admitted, staring directly into the void of one eye, the fire of the other. I want you to come home with me, now. I won't go without you.

Maegi fell silent, then, with one more strangled word escaping her maw: Please?

The ghost of his beloved was speaking. He could hear her well enough yet he didn't seem to register any of it; maybe he was seeing things, maybe she was really here, but either way — Titmouse had been spending so many days on his own yearning for her to return, and now he was stuck. He couldn't decide if he wanted to fall in to this fantasy, get swept away by it, or let it pass him by.

She spoke of ravens; he thought of his sister, of the black forest —
she spoke of home; he thought of the seaside —
I want you to come home with me, now.

Was this really happening? The boy found himself frowning at the figment before him, scowling at the idea of leaving this behind — she'd left him here, claimed it was safe. He'd moved on. Thought he had, anyways. Moorhen was here and Seelie and --- well, he didn't have anyone else to root him. They'd survived without him before. Please?

Maybe this ghost was here to take him away for good, he thought.

Poetic justice — sending his beloved to take his spirit away like this. His body had been shattered by the sea when he'd first arrived here; that same sea had been laying in wait for Titmouse ever since. Maybe this was it. His frown slipped away as he considered her offer — and then, within the icy stillness of the frigid season he all but sighed, Okay.

He was angry. He frowned, his body language was stiff, and he offered nothing but lukewarm acquiescence to her proposal. Dismayed, Maegi came closer. And then, closer still. She wasn't a touchy creature. . .except when it came to Mou. The reaching out of her muzzle to touch his shoulder, tentatively, might have been unheard of with anyone else she interacted with. With Mou, however, it barely scraped the surface. 

I'm really sorry, she whispered again, tilting her head slightly upward to meet his gaze. I hope you can forgive me. And if not forgive, then at least. . .overlook. At least for a while. She was very grateful to any who overlooked her myriad flaws and faults; she thought she would do the same, should she be in his position.

He didn't know what to expect from the ghost, but certainly it wasn't the warm sensation of her touch - that didn't mesh, and it made him do a mental double-take. She was contrite, apologies falling from her lips over and over - but he didn't hear them, wasn't focused on them. He was focused solely on the brief sensation of her proximity, her faint touch dispelling the erroneous notion that she wasn't actually here.

It woke him up.

M'gee, he exhaled, and with a half-step drew himself close to her. He drank in a deep breath of her scent and proceeded to wrap himself against her in a wolfish hug, holding her close and refusing to let her go for a long minute. He sighed against her, Lets go homn.

Home wasn't here without her. Wherever she went, he would follow.

And then, as if magic, everything changed. His body relaxed, his voice became normal once more. He said her name and she melted into his embrace, letting out a breath that was half-sob, suffused with relief.

He wasn't angry. It was all right. Everything was going to be all right.

All I want to do is go home, Maegi admitted, eyes fluttering shut. Her cheek rested against the slanted side of his chest; she counted every heartbeat, treasuring each one. The pounding of a drum, going inexorably on. Unstoppable.

But I wasn't going to go anywhere without you.

He stood with her for a moment longer, held close, listening intently to the emotional plea. He nodded slightly in agreement; then, drew back and made sure to say, I'll go anywhere. Although it would be sad to leave the island yet again, he knew that Seelie and the family would persist without him. He would come back one day to visit, at the very least. They were important to him. With that thought in mind, he turned to look at the surroundings, contemplating what to say to Seelie - to Moorhen, the rest of them. But he didn't need to worry much. Wherever the pair of ghosts wandered, they'd always be happy because they had one another.