Northstar Vale & prayer-pale stars that pass the drowsing-incensed hymns

the witching hour settles upon the velvet shadows of night, dotted with winking starlight and sweet moonbeams and panther feels a dull thrum in his skull. a buzzing ...of something locked away so tight and struggling so very hard to claw it's way free. he is restless. taken from the creek's claim without a backward glimpse. he should feel bad ...but there is no guilt to be found within chest nor head. only the feeling that he is seeking something without any clue of what it is he seeks. it feels like the sort of treasure hunt that would always leave the seeker empty-pawed.

a call, like that of a siren's song rises through the air; and like a man helpless to the myth he rises from his haunches and seeks out the source of the song, plunging into the darkened depths of the vale's woods. he keeps going, letting restless paws carry him deeper, deeper, deeper ...until at last he found her. a moonbeam given corporeal form.

something in his mind tugs, clawing at him with the same restlessness as before; alas to the same result. so, as etiquette demands of him he offers her a low chuff to announce his presence as his steps slow to a cease a few feet from her.