Deepwood Weald thelktikós
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All Welcome 
The boy sought out @Themis today, having already weeded out her recent trail. Rodyn’s teaching touched every step he placed; chosen, precise. Still needing practice in places, but Melaneus knew that in time, he would perfect himself.

The fog hung low this morning, and thick. The scents disappearing and reappearing through the patches of thicker and thinner mist. Tracking anything was a challenge - but he pressed forward, determined, and unrelenting.
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She slipped, calm and quiet, through the fog. It curved across her form, dancing through her fur, tugging at her from all sides.

She couldn’t stop thinking.

It was annoying. Themis preferred it when she didn’t have to do such a thing. But she felt stagnant, in a way the nomad inside of her abhorred. She was meant to trek, to roam, and fuck, if there wasn’t some nights she wanted to just up and run.

Nephele, Sabah, Themis, all of them, none of them. 

Her head hurt.

The matriarch didn’t even notice her son in her footsteps, too caught up in thinking.
english · greek · thieves cant
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He caught up to her, and when he saw her familiar shadow, he hunkered low and pressed his ears forward. She hadn’t seemed to notice him yet. How far could he push his luck?

Melaneus shifted his weight and calculated the lay of the ground he would soon find underfoot. A careful step, followed by another. Could he reach her without her knowing? If he could, he would, and if he did, he would wait behind her to see how long he could hide in self imposed invisibility before she sensed something - someone - was there.