Ravensblood Forest the seas did not forgive, and they did not welcome their wayward children home

Someone’s here, Sandpiper appeared at his hip and gurgled this through a mouthful of sea water. The pallid creature turned his head toward her, tongue lolling lazily from the side of his mouth. When he turned to where she was, his sister had already vanished from his sights. He thought nothing of how peculiar this would be to a rational mind. He already knew that she had beat death and the remnants were simply how he was to expect her.
 
Drawing his muzzle up into the air, Smokestep drank in the scent of the forest and found that Sandpiper had been right. With a few ragged breaths, he began to trek toward the origin of the scent. His rickety limbs caused him to move stiffly. Still, he found the figure of a pale stranger beneath the dark boughs that stretched overhead. She carried the aroma of a pack on her moon-colored cloak.
 
“Ahoy…” the ghost called to her in a choked rasp of a voice. His mismatched gaze rested on her features for far too long to be comfortable. His sides moved in and out in labored breaths that seemed to protrude his ribcage even more than it had before. The gaunt features of his face were twisted into an expression that did not match anything on the standard array of emotions.