Redhawk Caldera [BOO] It's all a matter of personal responsibility.

A fell wind has picked up; heavy, and ugly, smelling of seaweed rotting on a beach somewhere and the layered petrichor of saltstone. The smell lingers to those that taste it, who recognize that it does not belong so far afield.

It is offensive; within moments it is catching in the trees and making their branches shudder in such a way—peeling leaves off, which collect in a tumult. For a moment, the reds and golds of the leaves are a hissing whirlwind, and a glimpse gives the impression of a shape in the mess of it: something masculine, broad-shouldered, and a touch malevolent.

The air quiets for a long moment. When it returns, it is imbued with a rasping sound like bark being peeled from the side of a tree, pulsing across the outskirts of Brecheliant, somehow unable to permeate farther. The wind dredges the trees again and this time, among the mess of it, a pair of golden leaves twirl and glint in the sunlight—a pair of eyes?

She followed the route she had once taken, heavy with child, that led her away from the pack and toward the island where she had fallen. She saw the familiar shape of the Caldera rising up in the distance, and felt something within her begin to whirl and in doing so, emit a soft, wheezing sound.

But she was not the only one in the area who made such tones- and as she nearer, she recognized the telltale sounds of another spirit. She wondered if it had begun to gain ground, as had she. 

Still largely transparent, but the rising mist of salty fog showed some semblance of having long, golden legs that shimmered as the particles evaporated. Two eyes, empty but framed with mist spotted the two yellow leaves, and the misted edges of the apparition seemed to harden.

”Bloodline,” like a wave, crashing against the shore. ”Mine,” The rattling of stones under the ebb of a wave. 

After all- Reyes was her nephew. This was a reunion long overdue.

The red leaves sat limply a moment, and then writhed up, pulled by a force that gave them the look of a rearing snake; those gold glints set where the fangs might hang, then pulling back to eye sockets, sunken.

The sound of something large crushing through the pile came when a segment lashed out and formed a limb, and another, and the furious nature of the tossed leaves crowded close to Niamh.

There is a sucking gasp, rasping, as the wind pulls from behind Niamh. It sounds like wind scraping against trees. Blood...?

One fleck of gold shimmers close to her face, the other seems to reach to her other side, uncertain if it wants to observe or strike.

a dream, a dream, only a —
voices ahead, but they did not belong to the earth.
i am still dreaming, but the thought felt impossible.
before her uncomprehending eyes, shimmering foliage becomes —
becomes
becomes becomes becomes
"reyes?" strangled, gasping.

She was immune to the chill of the breeze now. It could flow right to her but peculiarly enough, it was the leaves that betrayed the gust's natural flow, floating around her and crowding her without simply fluttering on through. Another spirit was present; she could feel it all around her. 

Between the faint, but shining orbs she flicked an ear as the rasping word came forth, like the rustling of dead leaves. 

"Bloodline." She reiterated, not turning to look at either glowing orb so she wouldn't end up turning her back on either of them. 

Her gaze was drawn when a name was spoken by soft, hoarse vocal chords, and she snapped to attention. 

It was the one who had mothered the next brood of her son- and yet she called for Reyes. The cruel spirit vibrated with angry energy, and with the howling of winds through autumn branches, she screamed- and vanished.

Something in the air trembles as the shape of Niamh ignites through Reyes; her focus is elsewhere, and as she screams so too does Reyes, slowly and lowly, and as she vanishes his breath pierces the air and it stops - silence, abrupt; and there is Teya.

He shifts somehow. It does not feel like walking - more like swimming, which Reyes only notices when he's become a truer shape, and he's standing before her confused and then full of love for her, staring, and then wonder, as he reaches --
Teya, —
as he tries to hold her, but cannot; his touch is only cold air, his red fur like tumbling leaves. The smell of autumn.

Teya, please, he begs!
Does she tremble?
Teya, why am I here? His voice is so loud to his own ears. Where is -- Sorana? Where is our daughter? no, he doesn't need her answer, doesn't give it time to percolate, cannot fathom this hell of being here without-- WHERE IS SHE?

His whole focus is upon their daughter and as abruptly as he swept close, he is disappearing, spreading thin but livid, streaking the air with a red mist; losing cohesion.

there would only be a violent fear in the wake of ghosts, teya trembling, shaking, weeping at last when the terror grew too much for her to bear.
her psyche fractured somewhat, and long hours of emptiness lay ahead.