Sleepy Fox Hollow Must be the way you whisper.

Task: Scout out an area within the Hollow which is protected from the elements.

This place wasn't home, but it would do for now, he thought. The forest creeping across the mountains was of a similar composition to the woods they'd left behind (at least in some parts) and this gave him some limited comfort as he explored; up until the past few days Mou had not ventured far from Maegi's side, buzzing with anxiety in this new space that smelled like so many foreign wolves. He barely took notice of the other Diasporans when he patrolled between the trees; most of his wandering occurred at dusk or deep in to the night, as old habits were difficult to break, and much of the pack utilized the daylight hours (for which Mou was somewhat pleased, as it gave him ample alone time to study the landscape).

At some point Maegi had gone off on her own. As much as it pained Mou to let her go somewhere without him, he knew he was being too clingy and too demanding (silent as he was), and the pair could use a break from one another; so he did not protest much when she slipped off to go on her own little adventure, seeking any means to occupy his time. This was how he came to be awake beyond the night—nervous without his beloved at his side, he roamed within the hollow until daybreak and was too wired (overtired) to find a suitable nesting place.

What he'd found among the trees was a patch of stonework laid within the mountainside, but there appeared to be a fissure rippling through it: narrow where it tapered in to the hill, but as he followed the dark shape of it there was a cleave in the stone just wide enough for his narrow shoulders. He did not know what to do once he found it; a part of him was curious of course, but years of living in the darkness and surviving the void, then the autumn with its chaos of shifting tectonics and collapsing tunnels, made Mou more wary than anything—so he didn't get too close, merely stood in the jagged entryway and breathed the stale air, reminiscing.

Wylla wasn't exactly looking for company when she found Titmouse just staring into a crack in the mountainside. In fact, she'd paused mid-stride to watch the rear end of him from afar for almost a whole minute, during which he didn't move at all. Sentiment and memory were both powerful things, but not as powerful as being wary, in her opinion. If you didn't keep an eye on your surroundings, you were asking for trouble.

So on quiet paws she swept across the snow, deciding on a whim to prick her ears and throw high her tail. She'd told Mahler she intended to climb the ranks of his pack and that hadn't been a lie, so why not test the waters right here, right now? For all she knew, this guy was brain dead. How else did he stand so perfectly still like that with his head in the mountain's ass crack?

Assuming that she could get close enough without Titmouse noticing, Wylla swung low to nip at his hindquarters, a challenging grumble in her throat.

He studied the darkness as if he knew it intimately, and maybe that was true — after living out multiple lifetimes within which darkness held a key position, it was utterly unremarkable that Mou was so fixated. Then again, this was a new home, a new start. Nobody knew his history except for Maegi, and she wasn't here right now to explain (in the many ways he could never explain) why this particular ass crack had him set in such a trance.

The young man envisioned dark eyes set in darker faces; figures drifting and coiling, serpentine, as if sprouting from one body; he could not move for the longest time. It felt like time stood still, but minutes passed within which Mou did not even so much as tremble.. Until there came the clattering of jaws at his haunches, a scissoring of teeth that erupted in a violent stutter and made him shrink down - wheel to face the oncoming danger in one fluid motion - and he wheezed a snarl.

Teeth were bared and his pale hackles stood rigid like stalagmites along his spine and scruff; he saw the dark shape and thought the creatures he had seen in the chasm had materialized -- but the face he found was grizzled, a bestial note cutting through the calm that had surrounded him. Whoever this was, whatever it was, they had encroached on his space and the ghost would not take kindly to it; he was already on-edge after losing his home, and without Maegi to anchor him in rational thought, he wouldn't take long to spin out with anxiety.

Well, at least he wasn't dead with his head shoved in the mountainside. That would've been awkward to explain. Mou practically exploded out of the crevice, the picture of wolfish fury, and she danced back a few steps in the event he chose to react with his teeth next. She deserved it, but that didn't mean she would accept it. Whatever weird ghosts haunted Titmouse weren't her business; the only thing she cared about was that he was higher ranked than her and didn't deserve to be.

At least in her opinion. His was likely quite different, and rightly so. Chill, man, she said, lifting her head as if to say, yo, I'm your boss, calm yourself. I'm taking your rank though. Sound good? If only life could be so easy!

The figure shifted away from him as the tension swarmed, then stepped boldly closer, uttering something in a tone that was almost threatening to his ears. He took notice of their lifted chin and swagger, to which he naturally reacted: accustomed to being powerful within the woods (and old habits clung to him still) he countered her posture with defiance. A lift of the tail, rise of his own head, rigidity corrugating through his body as he closed in towards her. He would not let anyone take anything from him ever again - no rank, no home, no anything.

It was kind of a bluff, if Wylla was telling the truth. She didn't think Titmouse deserve to be above her in the hierarchy, but she also wasn't prepared for any kind of ritualized contest at the moment. If he had submitted easily, then she would've relished the easy victory, but since he chose to posture back, she lost interest quickly enough. Testing the waters, as it were, for when she did officially challenge his place in the pack.

Which would happen sooner or later, but for now, she smirked and stepped back. Not much in terms of submission, because she had no reason to respect this weirdo, but enough to take the edge off. Do you take everything so seriously? she wondered rhetorically. I mean, jeez, you're practically a corpse, what do you even care?

His posturing and his flashing teeth cut through whatever challenge the woman was offering and she backed down easily enough, although the whole situation left Mou feeling on-edge and agitated. He did not relax within her proximity and would not do so for some time; it would take some focus to do so, and his entirety was locked upon the grizzled woman. Even though she backed down and began to speak Mou watched her, listened intently, waiting for a trick or something - instead there came questions and (what he took to be) an insult, earning a small nip at the air with his front teeth.

You're practically a corpse, snap! His tail lashed at his hips. He took a defiant step in to her space (as if to crowd her back, or pressure her to get out of his space beyond the submission of her posture) and then as he took a breath, he opened his mouth to speak something snide in return, and wheezed - but then managed to articulate, Leaf me 'lone, which took him by complete surprise.

It seemed zombies did care about their place in a pack, since Mou reacted as if Wylla was a wasp that stung him. Which was more or less exactly what she'd done. She didn't budge when he stepped into her space, holding her ground with the defiance of a much larger wolf, until he cracked open his lips and actually spoke.

Poor guy. He was dumber than a pile of bricks from the sound of his voice, and Wylla couldn't hide the smirk that threatened to bubble into cruel laughter. He probably needed all the help he could get in this world, so for that reason, she backed off. She turned sidelong and took a handful of steps away from Mou before looking back over her shoulder and saying, you got it, bucko.

Even Wylla, rude as she was, didn't get many kicks out of teasing disabled folks, and he sounded like he had a few screws loose.

When she backed down and left him, he stared after her for a few minutes. The energy coursing through his skin was like ants crawling just beneath. He sat down and kick-scratched at his side, his neck, catching the leather collar and forcing it to rotate uncomfortably with the momentum of his kicks, until the plastic housing of the tracker was upon his clavicle, and then stood up and shook the remainder of the feeling from his body.

Mou then surveyed his surroundings with a careful eye, and returned to the chasm he had found - but did not investigate it further. The feeling grew stronger when he stared at the darkness of that stony gash, so he gave up and retreated from it, choosing an opposite route to the antagonistic woman.