Haunted Wood Way down we go.
Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
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#1
All Welcome 
Hour pass, nothing really changes. He sometimes thinks he is being watched from above; like some malevolent force is sneaking closer to the edge of the pit, and if he were to time his glances right, maybe he would catch someone overhead. He cannot be bothered to keep straining against the stiffness in his body, especially when movement would exacerbate the severity of his wounds. Revui has shed too much blood in his desperation. It was not a smart trade: the wolves of this forest were more than a match for the likes of him, although he would never openly admit as much. All he could do now was lurk in his pit, listening, making plans to pass the time... And hope, perhaps against all odds, he will survive this.
lions & men
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#2
she lurks at the edges, watching from where his glances don't travel oft, waiting. taking down the coyote, making it bleed, hurt, felt good. but it's faded, now, and she's consumed again by Vengeance's words. worthless. pathetic. 

she's been here an hour, some semblance of morals keeping her at a tail's length. but the stone she spots near the edge of the pit is far too convenient, and a moment later it is sent hurling towards the man, moving just as quickly as she withdraws.
Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
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#3
Nothing trembles, at least not in the manner that the Maplewood had quaked or the meadow adjacent, yet a tumult of stones clatters from the edge of the pit. The largest and sharpest lands on his brow, adding a fresh welt above his eye but otherwise not managing to cut him. It does, however, wake him from a stupor. With a rumble and slight shift of his body Revui sweeps a paw over his face to dislodge the debris thats settled on the crown of his head, glares briefly up to the ridge of the pit, then snakes his body in to a different position. It is tricky - every movement makes his crooked hind leg scream.
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#4
he does nothing; only rearranges himself on the floor of the pit, silent save for the low sound that comes as he shifts. she slips back to the edge, watching. more stones line the rim of the pit, but they don't tempt her as the first had. instead, she stands, poking a paw at the loose earth at the very edge of the sharp decline.

"who are you?" gimlet stare seeks his, not understanding the concept of his place, rank here and yet wanting too. it brings to mind something scylla'd said, something about the history of blackfeather.
Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
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#5
When he had finally adjusted as much as his body would allow, he felt content. More content than before, anyway, considering he still had a broken limb and was living in a pit against his wishes — but good enough, all things considered. They couldn't reach him in here unless they chose to jump in to the pit themselves, and Revui didn't think anyone would be that stupid; he was hungry, angry, and always up for a fight, even if he was down one limb and jacked up on medications. He plotted to pass the time; thinking of all the things he would do to the bastard that broke his leg, or to the red woman that had faced off against him initially—but then his thoughts were broken to pieces, splintered by the sound of a voice calling down from above. It sounded young. He almost didn't look up, but when he did Revui spotted the girl.

A part of him wished he wasn't broken, so that he could launch himself from the pit and grab at that little face, pull her down to the depths with him and thrash about. The only reason they kept him in this pit was for ease of access; they could toss herbs down to him, or food, or he supposed, sharp rocks—but the connection between the shard of stone against his face and this girl was completely missed. She was asking him for a name, he presumed. What did it matter?

Uyo. He quipped back, his voice a dry rumble, more at home alongside the quaking earth. His sound transformed to coughing, and after a series of rasping breaths the spasm concluded. He stared up at her with the same malevolence as he'd shown the dark stranger from earlier—wishing they'd come closer, daring them with that look, but knowing they were out of reach. I need.. water, he drawled factually, as if the child could help him.
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#6
staring down at the boy, she feels a twinge of the same thing she felt the first time she'd fought valour, the time she'd hunted down the coyote. but it is only that; a twinge. she's done nothing to be the one staring down at the stranger as he lies broken in the pit; she's done nothing to put him there. and so the pale power she feels wavers and flickers.

uyo. "no." she retorts, asking again, "who are you. why are you here?" a name offers her little, save for something to call him other than man-in-the-pit. his statement earns a quirk of her brow, though little else save an "ok." save diverting a river to him, somehow, she has little idea of how to help, and her sympathy is wane enough as it is.
Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
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#7
Her countering voice is barbed, demanding answers. Revui doesn't have many for her, and shrugs his stiff shoulders; he isn't patient enough to handle an interrogation by a child and would much rather nap, but she doesn't seem interested in leaving him be. Nor does she seem particularly invested in helping him—but he hasn't given her a reason to, and maybe she's incapable, being so small. It isn't normal for Revui to think so much about a situation but he has nothing else to do but plot.

It doesn't hurt to speak, he decides. Although his voice is grating and bothersome to wield, he answers her questions with blunt responses, as is his way. A warrior. The world is breaking—I needed shelter. There wasn't much to his tale, and he wasn't the kind of person to go in to needless detail when simplicity did the trick. If he had his way Revui would never speak; he would go by the natural law of things, using posture and intonation alone to convey what he needed, as he needed it. This required a more delicate touch and the leviathan was anything but. Other wolves fought me. I lost. Now... Drawls the beast, looking around at the empty expanse of the pit. Now I am here, and here I stay.

The woods have always been filled with these soft doe-eyed things;
with hearts beating for the arrow, the bullet, the lance.

I have always been the huntsman.  ⤑

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#8
a warrior, he claims, and she supposes it explains the injuries. he describes his situation with apparent apathy, though slipped and to the point, which she appreciates. laid out simply, she understands the basic reasons for his presence here. whether he insulted one of the warriors, trespassed, or some other slight, she does not know but supposes it does not matter. 

"what are you going to do about it?" the easiest option would be for him to waste away down there. it's obvious he's in no shape to move around, but won't be forever. he'll heal eventually, unless someone actively works against it.
Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
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#9
It feels like he is having a conversation with himself, almost. Or his conscience. Revui has never been very cerebral; he is a tactile creature first and foremost and while he does have the capacity to think before he acts, he often doesn't. Case and point: his current situation. Whether he has been plotting to himself or not remains to be shown—he's been resistant to the company of the adults and antagonistic when confronted with teeth (as in the case with Black Hat)—but here and now, with this girl asking the obvious questions, it almost makes it easier for him to make these considerations.

He very well could give up and waste away in the pit; that wasn't a choice he was willing to make, though. A warrior never gave up. He would die one day, but not here, not in this empty place, and certainly not because of a broken leg. He would go out fighting like his Viking blood demands—broken, bloody, eviscerated if need be. But he wouldn't give up and let himself fade.

Survive, he answers to the girl, his voice firm despite how worn and tired he feels. Whatever it takes.

The woods have always been filled with these soft doe-eyed things;
with hearts beating for the arrow, the bullet, the lance.

I have always been the huntsman.  ⤑

lions & men
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#10
survive. it seems it's all anybody can do, talk about, now. it's an answer she accepts, knowing that it's one of two vague, uncertain options that the man has, and, she supposes, the right one. what will come after, she wonders at, but does not put any more words to her curiosity. 

she, like him, can do only that, now. with a final glance, content in her knowledge so far, she turns on her heel and is gone a moment later.