<div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_u"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 24pt;">)+( <span class="bbc_u">Mute</span> )+(</span></span></strong><br/><em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">The Furtive Spook</span></em><br/><em><span class="bbc_u">Location:</span></em> Main Densites, Kiowa Territory.<br/><em><span class="bbc_u">Company:</span></em> N/A. <br/><em><span class="bbc_u">Perimeter Sense:</span></em> Vitani and Jag. <br/><em><span class="bbc_u">Rank:</span></em> Kiowa Ingyanga <br/><em><span class="bbc_u">Theme:</span></em> "Honshirabe" from Shakuhachi by Miyata Kohachiro.</div><br/><br/><br/><strong> "I see them, the souls that struggle with the dark...</strong><br/><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i276.photobucket.com/albums/kk6/Xxpeppermint_skittlezxX/The Wolves/For Others/B14.1_zpstzysuyqr.jpg)</div>The Furtive Spook layed dormant at the opening to his burrow; a soft breath upon the breeze. And with eyes barely open, his ears began to seize...the rumors that the wind brought him, despite his weary eyes far from others.<br/><br/>His only source of entertainment since yesterday...what did his ears see?<br/><br/>"I heard..."<br/>"I saw..."<br/>"I figured that ghost had been up to something-but what the hell did he do?"<br/>"The enigma? The quiet thing?"<br/>"Beaten up, something fierce, and Pecado nor his thugs anywhere to be seen...brother of his must be p***ed."<br/>"And<strong>Tsuki</strong>carrying him in to his burrow yesterday night to rest. Brought him food too."<br/>"And<strong>Vitani</strong>and<strong>Slash</strong>checking up on him? The hell? Since when did they talk?"<br/>"It's a quandry..."<br/>"...a mystery."<br/>"...what<em><span class="bbc_u">it</span></em>~ is...is ugly...something about it all...is ugly."<br/><br/>The cracked ribs in Mute's body gave a low groan as the healer gave a slow wince in response. The cold reminding him what it meant to cling to life. To cling to life was to nurture pain; the healthy way.<strong>Tsuki</strong>had mentioned returning later to check on him, and he remembered her answer to finally sit down and talk with him. He wondered...he wondered what he'd try to say. To say, to the fae. The fae that risked so much to find him.<br/>...silence...<br/>...he owed those three a great deal of thanks.<br/><br/>Only...how to repay? All he could do for some time: was heal. Mute pondered it somewhat as a tree seedling having an out of body experience, watching itself grow. Slowly. It hurt to move around, but Mute's ears replaced his eyes for keeping tabs on his surrounding packmates. The ones within range anyhow. It was going to be a slow recovery. A rather irritating one. Another huff escaped Mute's lips at the prospect. And no sooner had he done so, a small songbird perched atop one of his ears. A cardinal. Bright red. Black masked. Like a messenger from a place of bloodstains. Yet, it's song was cheerful, and it didn't seem to notice Mute underneath him being so still.<br/>Mute slowly managed to smile, as the bird continued to sing.<br/><br/>...an omen, was it?<br/><br/><br/>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br/><div style="text-align: right;"><strong> ...I see them, my silence beckons them, yet they do not come.</strong></div>