Bobby
Lyra Beaumont
Somewhere in Northwind

"Let's stop."

Lyra's voice, though muffled and tinny beneath her mask, was still sharp enough for the mercenary driving the cart to pull the horses into a slower stride.

"What do you mean? Still enough light to see by," Said the other mercenary sitting in the cart with her. He followed Lyra's gaze to the treeline behind them. She'd been glancing behind them for the past hour, now, each time letting her eyes linger longer. _She must be nervous about those noises,_ he thought.

Lyra looked over at him, seeing that he was also scanning the trees above. _So he's heard them, too?_

"What's wrong?"

The mercenary pulled the horses to stop so he could turn around, a puzzled expression drawing together his bushy brows. He was a young, scrappy man, but he had ruthless precision — and a knack for finishing jobs quickly, even days before he needed to. That also made him pretty impatient. And having to bring Lyra along to what would have normally been a two-man (emphasis on man) job had him on edge.

"There's been some strange noises trailing behind us for a couple hours now, Trip," The other mercenary said, pulling his eyes from the boughs of dingy green above to look at their designated cart driver. "You probably couldn't tell from where you're sitting."

"All the more reason to keep _going_," Trip said. His gaze shifted to Lyra, and it suddenly felt more fiery. "Or is the Canary scared?"

"I have a feeling that whatever's following us is waiting for the night," Lyra said, standing up and fastening her weapons belt more securely to her waist. Placing one hand on the edge of the cart, she swung herself over, startling the horses. She landed square on her feet, eyes still fixed above. 

"What are you doing?" Trip said, throwing the reins down, and only agitating the horses more. "Viper, do something, will you?"

Viper just raised his hands, staying in the cart. "She's right," He said, giving her a nod of assurance. He was a little older, middle aged. The top of his head had balded, but he still had long hair down the sides of his head and a full beard swallowing his chin. "Someone's gotta see what's back there. We'll stay here, Canary. Just come back in one piece."

"Or, don't" Trip said beneath his breath, so only Viper could hear. 

Lyra didn't waste more time after she received Viper's blessing. She was determined to neutralize the threat regardless of her companions' approval, but Viper was one of Levi's followers whom she was more willing to listen to. It was unnerving to hear shitbloods talk to her the way Trip did. She'd been inches away from pinning him with her knife to his neck several times on the job, and they'd only been gone a day or so. But Viper had always been hospitable and respectful in his speech. She'd noticed a wedding band on his hand when they were introduced. It seemed the both of them had come from very different lives. Maybe he could see it in her eyes, too.

Lyra grimaced as she walked, drawing her knife. _And who are you now,_ she thought. _Saying "Neutralize" When you know you mean "Kill." How many have you neutralized, now? Sweetly, or otherwise?_

The question mattered, but now wasn't the time to chew it over. It couldn't be. This was her idea, after all.

"Come on out," Lyra called, using her free hand to untie her mask's loops from behind her ears. She welcomed the night air as it hit her face, tucking the mask's ties into her belt strap. "We know you're following us. Show yourself, or I'll lure you out, myself."

Mask undone, Lyra now placed her free hand on her amulet, drawing from its power. Her pupils started to glow amber as her eyes scanned the treeline, anticipating movement.
Carlos
Selkie N'yenskor
Northwind

Footprints swept aside brush and other debris like dandruff in tree canopies, left by racing, pale feet. Dark wings expertly attached themselves to tree trunks and limbs - beneath them swung a maiden's legs. Flashes of silver grew more sparse as the sun sunk lower beneath the horizon. Wiry, umber fur grew black under a starless sky, its gasps of life suffocated among the leaves. All of these components joined together to form some chimera, some horrible, nimble Frankenstein. She had the torso and head of a bat, the lower half of a woman, all splotched with uneven patches of fur. She stalked the torchlight. Ears swiveling, snout twitching, Selkie picked her way through the canopy. She noisily leapt from one limb to the next, emitting a near-mute squeak. Eyes like marbles strained to see more than shapes, suggestions of objects - it was a futile effort. Her vocalizations better illuminated her surroundings, allowing her to pinpoint the figures. Their distant conversation was practically held in her ear on account of her excellent hearing. 
_ _

Then one turned and spoke. Selkie's entire body grew still, and she was a gargoyle, locked in the terror of being caught. No, it was not that alone - that voice, that chilling voice - Selkie was horrified to consider its owner. The ever-burning silver clasp seemed leagues tighter around her throat. Perhaps the lump she swallowed around was a tumor forming in her esophagus, squeezed beneath her silver, ready to suffocate her. She clasped her snout and covered her eyes. Braced against a tree's trunk, Selkie pressed her bony fingers into familiar grooves upon her face. Pale scars traced lines like wrinkles beneath her eyes, etched by years of stress relief. She had escaped so far, flown as far as her little wings could manage - how, then, had her past already found her? Had the Beaumonts so meticulously combed Marin for her? Were the trees clueing the family in, whispering to the lavender-eyed matriarch? Was the device around her throat relaying her location? Selkie was mad, frothing at the mouth with questions and paranoiac conspiracies. 

Selkie did not move. Instead, she clicked quietly, staring sightlessly in Lyra's direction. There was a helplessness anchoring her to her perch. If the Beaumont lady could track her across Marin, why flee? They would collect her, or they would not. Selkie lowered her beastly head with a deep sorrow. She did not want to be a captive. She did not wish to be caged, yet that seemed her fate.
Bobby
Lyra Beaumont
Northwind

Lyra's pace slowed to halt. She heard a series of clicking (or... Chirping?) coming from what felt like all around her. She wanted to close her eyes and isolate its source, but she figured that making herself sightless, even temporarily, was not an ideal move considering her goal of finding something _before_ the light was gone. Whatever was making the noise, it didn't seem to be aggressive. It also didn't seem to be entirely human.

_That's either good for me, or disastrous,_ Lyra thought, holding her knife with a more firm grip and raising it slightly. She slowly swiveled her head back and forth. The clicking sound was echoing off the trees, stronger depending on what way she faced, but still hard to pin down. 

It would take too long to lure this thing out. Lyra could feel sweat forming on her brow, having to swipe her locs from her face for some relief. She unclasped her cloak, in the event she needed some more mobility. 

_And what about your voice?_

Lyra blinked, startled. The question sounded similar to her own, but it also felt like an intrusion, of sorts. Unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome.

The woman took a deep breath, trying to shake off her nerves. It made sense. This was not a time to panic, but to persuade. She stood square, eyes lifted up, unsure where to aim her spell, but ready to cast nonetheless. Power escaped her body as she began to sing, quietly enough so as not to lure the mercenaries waiting behind. Oddly, the song she sang felt implanted somehow. Dripping with sweetness, but also a sharp loss.

_Far too long you flew
When safety here awaits you
Show yourself, don't flee
Come safely back to me

Pain, no need to fear
As I still stand right here
I'll take you as you are
Come, now, from the dark_

The woman felt her eyes sting as she sang, bewildered by the emotion. She had no connection to whatever had been trailing them, at least, none that she knew. And yet, she felt like she was singing to something long-gone. She grasped her amulet tightly, replacing what she'd been losing.