Bones was quiet for a few beats. "Justice," he repeated quietly to himself, but he did not comment further on the numbat's words. He only hoped he had done nothing to hurt them, not particularly for his own sake, but for theirs. Bones wasn't too sure if he could forgive himself if he hurt Booker, at the very least.

He watched for a moment, ears still flat against his skull. "You weren't weak," he said. "Seeing good in someone who did bad things, being able to forgive what they did and give them new chances to prove themselves is something not a lot of people can do and it takes a strong person to put up with that." Bones could imagine that, by now, Priest didn't want to hear much of these words anyway. He stopped while he was at it regardless, but his ears flickered slightly.

"None of us are made for anyone," his tone was more confident than it had been previously. "Nobody is a half looking for their other half, nobody is defined by the people they hang around or choose to love." He paused.

"I don't know if that makes sense," he grumbled. It was a hard thing for him to explain, but it was important nonetheless. He decided to drop it shortly afterward anyway - he didn't want to end up crying in front of this sort-of-new-person.

As he dug, a lopsided smile pulled at his lips, shining eyes flickering up to the numbat. The reveal of a sense of humour was something Bones felt was much needed now; his tail began to bat to and fro as dirt shovelled under him. "It'd be fun to say anything to anyone," he said, readjusting himself. "But I imagine death to be freeing. I haven't seen spirits in Canis before."

As he scrambled out of the hole he watched Priest for a moment longer, tail still wagging. "I used to carry a bone around," he said, still grinning. "I sleep with them, my mother uses them to see things. I suppose calling somebody 'Bones' in Canis is like calling somebody 'Tree' in Eridanus, because of how abudant they are and how often they're used for survival and stuff."

As the numbat scrambled up his face and perched like a head Bones stumbled back up. "She seems nice," he mentioned in regards to Dovefeather. The way to the Eyes wasn't so far, and he supposed that the more 'graves' he upturned the more it would prove that Bones was, in fact, not dead.

"You never met her," he finished sadly, sniffing and hounding around tree trunks. "My mother, she is... broken." The words hurt. He missed how Giggle used to be, collective and level-headed. Now she spent her days babbling incoherently, speaking without a filter or a second thought.

"She went missing for a long time, and when she came back she was broken. She's not the same and I don't know if she ever will be again, but she's.. adjusting. My brother is alright. He had a kid, recently-- a lovely little kid named Scarborough. I think you'd like him."

He stepped over the roots of trees carefully, being sure not to knock the numbat off his head by accident. "Grandfather is the same as usual, though." His ears flickered either side of the tiny gembound. "Harvesting more children, though Caves know why. I don't see the point in having so many. There's never enough rats to feed all of us in Canis anyway."

Feeling as though he may be rambling, they reached the Eyes shortly after he decided to stop talking. "Here," he said, approaching one pool and peering in. "This is where you buried someone, right?" He turned his head, now, to look over at the other eye, then down at the ground.

He lowered his head, sniffing for a moment, and then rested it flat against the ground, offering the numbat the chance to get off if he wanted to. He couldn't smell any death here, either - and certainly not the scent of a cold life stone. "How often do you leave Eridanus?"

@Booker

The loaf of mushroom-flavored numbat stayed silent for one breath, two, twenty, moving his head back to rest above one of Bones' eyebrows, hesitating for a moment before a feather-soft touch began to pet at mottled fur. "...we may have to agree ta disagree," Booker murmured, lulled out by the familiar, rare comfort of being safe, eye slipping closed lazily. "I keep forgiving people who don't deserve it, and runnin' away from people who do." The petting stopped with a gentle, but no less meaningful, tap. "I don't think I'd mind, bein' defined by you." Tail twitching to curl across his front paws, Booker huffed, chin drooping down until the unburdened half of his face was smushed against his chauffeur's forehead, black gemstone spikes kept far away from delicate skin. "I've only been ta Canis... once? Maybe twice. The bird - Azazel? He said he was from there." He'd never seen the huge bird of prey, after he'd not-quite-outright said he'd rather not get in a war with the Merrymen over two unknown prisoners. Booker might have held a grudge, once, before he'd had a real family - people he'd die for without a second thought. Putting that at risk for a kid and a known murderer... it wouldn't be worth it, not to anyone. At the mention of Dove and her relative niceness, the smile on his face was twitched up by Barnett's wealth of memories. "She always believed us. Never said we were crazy, or sick, or... she was just okay with it. With us." The wonder in his voice made him flinch, and he stuffed away the gratitude. Cycles of experience had warned him of how friends, family, could turn angry like the flip of a switch, violent and hungry for any chance to one-up him. Speaking about others he had a bond with tended to be a familiar trigger. Still, he wanted to believe in Bones. The dog had never hurt him, and almost seemed uncomfortable at the thought. "I dunno. She's my lil sister," he finally mumbled. With the weight he put on family, it was the best summary of his trust in the cat he could verbalize. Although the "little" was debatable, considering they were, at most, a cycle and a half apart. He stayed silent for the explanation on Giggle, wondering, for a moment, how someone as wise as the bone-reader had been changed. Priest's conclusions all circled around the Mother's will, but Booker preferred not to guess. There were too many ways to narrow down, in this cave. "It'll help 'er, to be around her family," the scribe offered, reaching out to trace the edge of one of Bones' overlarge ears curiously. "Adjusting is all most of us can 'ope for." Because, in the end, there wasn't a cure for the trauma that had devastated so many Gembounds. They wouldn't ever suddenly be back to the way they were. Privately, Booker thought that was what had bothered Louie the most - the prospect that Booker himself would always be someone new, and not the teenager he'd originally met. The numbat blinked, stopping his inspection for a moment, and for a moment, memories of grooming back Diot's fur, righting Bee's flight feathers, flooded his vision. A heartbeat later, and he shook it off, tail twitching uneasily. It would be cruel, to use his own loss as a weapon - or a shield. "Scarborough. 's a good name," he hummed, back relaxing from its tense bow. "Don't think I ever got ta meet your brother, either. Be nice, to see some new faces. The forest's been quiet for a good cycle or two," he admitted, oblivious to the dramatic bloodshed that was ongoing, being plotted as they spoke. Grandfather had his ears perking up, and he rolled to peer over Bones' forehead again, his posture and manner indicating trust more readily than words ever could. "He wouldn't happen ta be a big bird, would 'e?" Because honestly, knowing his life, the answer would be a yes, and he needed a good laugh at the cave's irony right now. Unfortunately, any follow-up questions were stopped by their arrival at the Eyes, and the odd, hollow feeling in his chest shut his throat for a long pause. "Eve. Eve is buried near here. The Eyes... they tell Seers things, guide, but don't sugarcoat. She was like that, I think." A huff, and Booker moved back to sit up on his haunches, peering past Bones' snout to stare into the clear water. "First time I met her, she gave me a gift. Can you imagine? Firs' time, high as a kite, and she actually cared enough ta just... make me somethin'. First time I ever been given a gift before." The last part was whispered, ashamed, and his ears flicked back, head moving to block out the accusing glare of light off of the calm pool. "She didn't deserve ta die. Never did nothin'." That had always bothered him - that he would kill innocent people like Eve and Dovefeather, or his own children. He'd blocked out the memory of Bones' corpse for as long as possible, until Priest had finally made the memorial to get the images out of his head. His perch moved, dipping down to rest on the earth, but he didn't move. Couldn't. "Last time I left was... more'n four cycles ago. It's a... long story. Not pleasent." Eridanus, gigantic gravesite that it was, only held memories of bloodshed and terror, for him. The only part of it he truly cared for was the Mother, but her arms reached out to touch every inch of the caves. Still, he found himself stuck, too terrified that if he left he'd run into someone who remembered what he'd done. Booker peered down at the ground below, tantalizingly close, and froze. "I don't... I don't trust myself not to run," they whispered. "But I trust you to keep me safe."

His ears lifted. It was strange, but he knew - the change in his voice, the way he said his words. The gentle touch of the numbat against his face. Priest had retreated someplace else, and now it was Booker that sat atop his head. The words he wanted to say choked up in his throat - words that would have to wait until a more appropriate time. "Hi," was all he managed to croak out.

He walked a while longer, quiet. Contentedness began to fill his belly regardless of the situation, why he was taking Booker to the Eyes. "You give them the chance to redeem themselves," he said eventually. "It's not your fault if they decide to decline the offer of being a better person." He tried to look up, but he could only really see the edge of the numbat's tiny nails and his nose. His ears flickered idly, looking back at the path as he limped carefully along. "I'm not much, Booker. I'm just a painter."

Bones had already decided, albeit to himself, that he wouldn't mind it either. He wouldn't mind lazing with Booker by his side, absent-mindedly marking the walls while getting opinions from the numbat. Maybe he would join, create small but detailed paintings with small claws. The dog passed a glance at the gembound's webbed fingers. Maybe not, said a voice in the back of his head.

"Azazel," he said fondly. "That's my grandfather, yes." His tail flickered, but he focused mostly on keeping his head kept relatively still. "He has a lot of children, adopted and from blood alike. I'm not sure why."

"Dove is a good person," he replied confidently, hobbling over a stray root. "It's good that you know people who understand and want to look out for you, and it's good to keep family close - even if it is small in comparison to all the aunts and uncles I've gained over the last while."

"Besides," Bones said, with a good-natured tone of humour. "Dove isn't small enough to be your little sister." His tail was still flicking, lightly swaying left and right. The feeling of contentedness continued to bubble in his gut and for a few moments he forgot about his aching legs.

His tail came to a slow stop however, as he came to think about Giggle again. "We're trying to help her the best we can," he said quietly. "I don't know what she went through but we're trying. It's been hard on all of us, but especially her. I don't know if she'll get better but it won't stop her from being my mom, you know?" He paused for a moment, a sigh leaving his nostrils.

The happiness began to melt away and it was left with solemn regret. He probably could have been a better son to her, all things considered - but he knew he was right. Giggle would always be his mother and that meant he would always be looking out for her. It took him a moment to realise the numbat was touching his ears, and he batted them playfully at him before he continued moving on. It's alright, the guesture said.

"You'd like him," he said moments later. "Scarb and Kerb. Kerby has three new faces you you." He grinned upwards to Booker, and then they came to the Eyes. He watched the numbat hobble forth onto his snout and he adjusted his head for a moment or so, to make sure he wouldn't fall.

"Do you remember exactly where she was?" he asked carefully, ears high. He recalled the smooth stone he had for Booker and his tail began to lash somewhat again. "I don't remember her, but she sounds like a good person. I'm making you something right now, but she'll have to take the prize of being the first person to give you something."

As he lay down, Booker didn't move. He opened his maw for a moment to tell Booker that he knew he wouldn't but he stopped. The numbat's words hit him like a kick in the gut. He watched Booker with wide eyes, silent. He wanted to ask why, after what Baratheon had done, did he trust him to keep him safe.

Instead, he nodded.

The dog lifted himself back up to his paws. "I'll keep you safe," he said quietly and he began to circle the clear pools, searching for where the ground, to him, look the most disturbed.

He paused, ears flickering briefly. "Here?" he asked quietly, pawing at the ground gently. "You don't have to watch, but I don't smell anything here."

@Booker @Dovefeather

I'll keep you safe. Eye slipping shut at the rattling breath of relief that crawled from his lungs, Booker smiled, leaning back. "You've never been just anythin', Bones." A blush crawled up his neck, stained the skin of his cheeks, at the thought of the dog going out of his way to make him something after he'd essentially hidden away from the world for... six cycles? It felt longer than that, really, but Booker suspected exhaustion was the reason for the false slowdown of time. The warmth faded as memories of Eve came to the forefront, and he refocused. He was alive to spend time with Bones, as much as he could, test to see whether this bond, too, would turn on its head. He could spare the time to focus on Eve, even if remembering her, sharp humor interlaced with a tone somehow familial on the first meeting, sent a pang of nausea through his body. Gaze sliding back open, he focused. The memory that was slowly dredged up was watery, grayscale and fragmented from attempts to block it out. The ground at the shore of the Eyes had been soft, easy to move - he'd planned it out, after all. Burrowing and gravedigging went hand in hand. The well-churned patch of dirt certainly looked like his handiwork, but Booker shrugged all the same, expression sharpening into a pained glare. "Would you st-" The bark was quickly cut off, a cold chill tickling his spine. Angry responses, even if they were true, were often met with pain. The numbat huffed, dragging a mangled paw across his face. "I... I know why yer askin'. I get that you're tryin' to protect me. But you gotta understand that I can't - I can't jus' pretend that it never happened. Not with any of it." Even if it hurts to watch. "If we find her, I won't feel better for not watchin' you dig her up. If we don't..." His ears flicked back, and the brewing sense of panic that had begun to well up from his throat hummed. "Guess I got bigger problems than some bad memories." The panic began to dance with uneasy paranoia, and Booker sat back hard, shoulders locked and muscles stiff. Because if the things he remembered hadn't happened, then what else hadn't? Had he imagined all of it? Imagined Baratheon's emotional promises, and Louie's confessions? What if Louie had never been more than the kidnapping tyrant he'd been in Monoceros? Teeth clenching, Booker's breath whistled out of his nose, and he raised a hand to gnaw at the nails, casting a wide net over Bones' previous answers to try and find something, anything tangible to focus on. "Your family," he finally settled on murmuring, desperately willing his brain to stop racing. "I can't believe your grandfather is Azazel," he huffed out, a touch of amusement twitching at his lips. "He's... interesting. Dropped by Monoceros when we were 'eld there... think he was worried about startin' a war," the scribe mused. "Also, I feel like we shouldn't skip over tha whole brother with three 'eads thing," Booker added, blinking at the mental image of a three-headed Bones. It was vaguely unsettling, but also kind of adorable. It was also much easier to focus on than the possibility that he'd made up his trauma, which, really. Not a good train of thought, considering that his chest squeezed every time he wondered over a new memory.

Bones knew that perhaps he was being a little... fast, with proving that Booker hadn't seen him, his friends and his family die. The same second the numbat opened his mouth was the same second Bones moved his paws and turned, limping away from the Eyes. Attempts at an apology were caught in his throat and came loose as a croak instead of a sentence.

Booker was right. Bones wanted to think on it for a while, but he was right and therefore there was nothing to actually think on. Even if everyone was alive it didn't change that he had those memories - it didn't change that he tried his best to repress them and it didn't change the fact Bones was forcing them back up again.

He felt like an asshole.

It was now he realised his aching legs, wandering around trees and roots almost drunkenly, swaying but trying his best to keep his head still in fear of accidentally knocking Booker off. He propped his scarred back against a tree and slowly slid down onto his belly, ears flat against his skull.

He was quiet for a few beats longer, trying to angle his snout up towards the numbat and nuzzle him in a wordless apology. No matter what they found it didn't change that, just like his mother, Booker was broken and he needed support. His ears flicked as his muzzle eventually found the numbat and he pressed his nose gently against his tiny chest.

He was changing the subject. It was a welcomed change, at least.

"A war," the dog echoed. "I don't remember a war ever being mentioned, but my memory is starting to fail me." Bones seemed to think, ears flicking. "I suppose it depends on how long ago it was, but it would explain why we keep Kerby guarding the tunnel into Canis."

He chuckled. It only maintained a fraction of the humour he had before. "Yeah, speaking of him," he said, tail thumping slowly but hollowly off the floor. "Kerberos is good, but he gets confused sometimes. Someone's told him to 'smooch' rats instead of killing them when he hunts." Canis was running out of rats as it was - so perhaps it was a good thing, especially since Kerberos had the biggest appetite out of all of the Bonebound combined.

"The heads are easy to get on with," he said. "They're all the same person, so it just means there's a whole lot more slobber when you say hello to them. I think he'd like you."

He tilted his head. He could only hope, at least, but he was sure that if he explained to Kerberos that Booker wasn't food, he would understand. "It is strange, though. That Grandpa wouldn't ever mention a war." He snorted, blowing hot air into the numbat's fur."Maybe he was keeping it a secret."

He watched Booker through amber eyes for a moment. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, things that built up in his throat but then stopped and refused to go any further, but Bones was sure by now it was himself holding them back. The only thing that managed to escape were a soft "Booker, I..." but that was it. He cut himself off once more with a tight jaw, eyes half-closing.

He breathed in, practically tasting the scent of fungal stink, a smell he had grown too used to now. He very lightly bumped Booker's chest with his nose before he raised his head once more and looked around with over-sized ears pricked high. He watched for a moment, as though afraid Baratheon himself were going to show up.

"Do you ever feel like you can't find the right words to describe someone?" the question came at random - but to him, it made perfect sense. It was a lighter subject than finding Booker's dead friends in the ground, after all.

@Booker @Dovefeather

Dovefeather's paws carried her away from the newborn child, back towards the Eyes. Her home, where she had been born, where her nest lay filled with stones and gifts, gentle and quiet by the still, clear waters. The All Mother would greet her in her reflection, murmuring words that the kitten could never hear. She would See, perhaps, but part of her nearly wanted to shy away.

The sound of conversation caught her ears and she froze, her quiet buzzing turning into deathly silence. Eridanus wasn't safe anymore-- not since the Elephant and her trophies, nor the Wolf who claimed Leadership with blood on her paws-- and without knowing where Cayenne nor Basil were, there wasn't much to be done.

The feline darted up the nearest tree, clutching to the lowest hanging branch as she craned her head to hear, wanting to locate the source without giving away her own location by shaking leaves. Alarm spread through her as she thought she recognized the voice saying her brother's original, birth-born name. Booker. She had known him more recently as Barnett, but she hardly kept track. He was her Brother, and that was all that usually mattered.

"Do you ever feel like you can't find the right words to describe someone?"
The voice asked, Dovefeather's face screwing up as she tried to place it. She knew the voice, true, but it had been so long since she had heard it, and the cat knew many names. She was known for seeing, not for hearing, and she preferred to live in the present.

With a question like that, however, she found herself lunging to the next branch, scrambling across the treetops towards the conversation until she saw the pair down on the ground. Immediately she recognized the dog by sight: Giggle's son, the one who had come before, when she had been sick and angry, desperate to get her feather back from the vile Fang.

It had been a long, long time. The question Bones had asked rattled around in her mind, and the choked feeling in her throat threatened her to tears. She fought it back, suppressing the thoughts that rose to her mind.

It made it hard for her to come up with a name, regardless. She screwed her eyes shut and forced a purr into her chest, mentally shaking off her emotions. "Brother!" She yowled down to them, rising to her full height on her branch, tail held high. Her face was lit up by the glow of her mourning dove feather, casting shadows on to the pair of owl and crow feather on the other side.

"The All Mother knew I was looking for you," she announced, purr on full roaring beehive mode. "Guided you right into me, you and... Your friend..." Pale, shimmering buttercup eyes shifted across the canine, trying to summon his name to the front of her mind.

Alas, All Mother could guide her to her brother all She like, but she would always be deaf to Her words.

Perch moving beneath his feet, Booker slowly moved into a hunch, webbed hands twitching to spread out over short fur. It took him longer than it might have, once, to realise that Bones wasn't waiting to snap back - that the strangled, coughing noise wasn't choked down anger, but a kind of wordless apology. The numbat blinked at the realization, waiting for the dog to slowly slide to a stop, inching forward until he'd maneuvered his back legs down to rest on the ground, both paws maintaining contact as the instinct to flee battled with the promise of safety. Bones' muzzle, the same width as Booker's body, touched to his chest, and the scribe huffed out a breath, reaching up to pat at the black nose currently attempting to burrow into his ribs. A beat, and his head dipped, tiny nose touching his friend's, eyebrow raising. "Eh, I wouldn't worry 'bout it. I was only... hm. Three, four cycles old? Long time 'go. The Merrymen aren't much of a threat anyway," Booker added, snorting. "I've got one of their guards half-dead in my burrow, matter a fact." The skunk had managed to tell him that much, eyes venomous with fear, sparkling gemstone crown at odds with her bared stone teeth. "An' their leader is about as stable as I am." Which was to say, not at all. Sitting back on his haunches, Booker dropped his chin to perch on Bones' nose, soft amusement sitting in his gut at the dog's obvious attempts to keep up the guise of nope-definitely-not-talking-about-the-dead-people-thing. "He... kisses rats?" A tiny cough of laughter escaped him, and the numbat grinned. "That's adorable. And prob'ly terrifyin', from the rat's perspective," he added, conjuring up a mental imagine of three dog-heads chasing after a terrified rodent, attempting to, apparently, smooch it. But the next part - they're all the same person - made his eye widen, and his gaze flicker to lock onto Bones' from its lull in attention. "Like... me? Or..." The threadbare hope in the question was obvious, and Booker covered it with a cough. "Never mind - uh. Azazel probably kept it a secret becau-" A blink, and he raised a paw to scratch at the back of his neck nervously. "Uh. Well. I mean. The Merrymen pretty much had control over Baratheon, by that point. Usin' me as a proxy." Which had been odd, and later had only deepened his confusion when it came to his and the dragon's... relationship. How could it be a powerplay, if Booker, as unimportant as he was, somehow had control over one of the most powerful creatures in the caves? But Bones was looking at him with one of those looks, the ones that meant more than they said and that Booker had a history of being terrible at deciphering. The numbat's ears craned forward, ready to attempt to catch the words - but then the dog was moving, top of his nose bumping the scribe's chin, and Booker leaned back to let him rise. His brow furrowed at the words, and he looked away, unseeing, a flash of green at the edge of his vision. "All the time." Some bonds were too complex, torn apart and stitched back together to be classified - and some were too simple, but too frightening to say. He had an unsettled feeling that this was the latter. But then the trees overhead rustled with weight - and it was Priest who turned on a dime, paranoia flipping back his upper lip to reveal shiny hooked teeth. "Something is -" Brother! His head swung left and up, eye narrowed into a glare... and stared up at the silhouette of what was undoubtedly his sister. Priest's snarl turned into a wide grin, eye crinkling at the corner. "Seer! The Mother has guided you well." It was Barnett who softened his expression, and Booker who barked out a laugh, limping over to Bones' side and patting the dog's ankle. "Bones, Dove. Dove, Bones. Long time no see, sis." He didn't think oh hi, I thought you were dead would go over well.

Seven cycles ago. It felt so much longer; but that was a long time in itself. He watched Booker for a moment before a gentle snort left his nostrils. "What do you intend to do with them?" he asked. He had never met another Merrymen member, but he imagined something along the same size of Baratheon, if they were able to take control of him.

His ears flicked good-naturedly. "It gives them a life experience to talk about to their friends, though," he said with a lopsided grin. He didn't quite understand Booker and the others seemingly living within him, but he didn't quite understand Kerberos instead. "I think so." The words were uncertain.

"You could ask him," he mentioned. "It's about time you met my family anyway, right?" His tail hammered off the ground briefly, he nodded sluggishly before he looked directly upwards. There was a slight rustle that came from the branches above.

Almost immediately Bones half-sprang to his paws, moving so that the numbat was under him. although his front paws were on the ground, one of his back legs lay limply behind him but it didn't stop Bones from curling his lip back, a low growl forming in his throat. The fur on his back - or what was left of it - stood on edge as his ears flattened hard against his skull.

He was still snarling; leg moving uselessly behind him as he tried to position himself in a stance appropriate for getting ready to defend the tiny gembound under him if need be. Even as the numbat spoke, the growl rumbling in Bones' mouth did not cease until he felt the gentle touch of a webbed paw touching his leg.

His movements were almost like melting, back legs painfully moving back into place and the rest of his body soon followed, features relaxing once more as he lay on his belly. "Dove," he said, voice somewhat hoarse. "You were with my mother and her bones, the last time I saw you. How are you?"

He knew the cat wasn't a threat. Giggle trusted her, though he wasn't sure if she still would. Regardless, his head rested on the ground of Eridanus once more, any previous signs of alert and aggression completely sinking back into his mottled coat.

@Dovefeather

Immediately the pair went on the offensive at the noise of branches creaking and leaves ruffling, and Dovefeather wasn't remotely phased. The caves had been tainted, poisoned deep into the wells, ever since the All Mother's Eyes were wounded. Things hadn't been the cheerful, hopeful childhood they had once known in a painfully long time.

The cat simply tilted her head, making her purr even louder until they located her and relaxed at the sight of a familiar face. Her brother immediately introduced Bones, and the name clicked into place instantly. A thought shook through the feline that made herself feel sick, and she turned away from them to figure a way down the tree.

With practiced ease, the cat scampered down the branched, bounced from the tree trunk to a large fern, and then landed neatly before the pair, eye golden eyes glistening as she observed the two, ears twitching at the questions.

"How I am is of little consequence. Is Canis safe?"

The question came sharply from her tongue, and although she held a softness to her stance and a loud, rumbling chest of humming bees, there was a vicious seriousness to her stare.

"The All Mother's garden is no longer safe. A monster came and killed Blackfeather... I was returning to Her Eyes to gather my possessions and our sisters' remaining stones."

The moment of tension in her vision faded and she blinked slowly, a wary, tired smile gracing her muzzle with the twitch of her whiskers.

"Brother, have you seen Cayenne, or... Or, Basil? I think Cay went to Polaris, but..."

She couldn't remember if he even knew of the aardwolf, but she was certain she had mentioned the canine before. Abruptly she realized she was shaking, her muscles quivering from some form of exhaustion brought on by her overwhelming worry. She tried to hold herself high and proud, but it was all crashing down on her suddenly.

Dovefeather wasn't sure how much more she could bare to lose.

Booker watched as his sister, so much more settled into her own skin now than the kitten who'd been so perceptive, lept down from her perch, familiar purr buzzing through the air. He relaxed at the sound, ears twitching to the sides to catch the sound - but her immediate question he couldn't answer, instead shooting Bones a glance and miming a helpless shrug, turning his attention back to the Seer at her confession. His breath swam in his lungs, and his eye slipped half-shut, hot air slipping through his nostrils. My chosen name is Blackfeather. It's nice to meet you, Brother Booker. It seems the Mother has shown you favor! Don't ignore the signs, Brother Booker! You and your family are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you want. He refocused on Dovefeather, pushed the loss down, tried not to remember how small, how fragile his sister had looked the last time he'd seen her, listened to her forever-faithful voice. Somewhere inside, he laid her down beside the rest of the dead. "Who killed her?" His voice was monotone, defeated, but his expression was set in an angry stillness. "Was it..." Baratheon stuck in his throat like a briar, and he couldn't spit it out, so he shook it off, tried to let the anger and helplessness roll off of his back. "If you need help carrying them, or your belongings," he offered. Dovefeather and Bones were, at the end of everything, his only true family. It was a comforting thought as much as terrifying, because that family should have been bigger, but one by one they were turning up as corpses. He returned the smile with a tired one of his own, brow relaxing. The smile twitched into a puzzled frown at her question, fear twitching his ears back. Thankfully, a long, tense moment later, he could safely shake his head no - they hadn't been among the Gembound he'd killed from the inside out. "The last time ah saw Cayenne was... Mother, cycles ago. She was jus' a lil kid. Never seen Basil, just heard ya mention 'im. Why? Do you think whoever... hurt Black would go after them too?" The thought made his heart hurt. Cayenne, at least, he knew on some level - and Basil was Dove's... well. He was important to Dove, in a way he privately compared to his own deeper bonds. The numbat hesitated, twitchy, before finally patting Bones' leg reassuringly, stepping forward until he could reach out to hug his sister, careful to keep opaline spikes from brushing across skin. "'m sorry, Dove. First Owl, and now..." He huffed, and it was Barnett who ducked his head back, meeting her gaze with a seriousness the alter didn't usually possess. "Whatever ya need. Jus' say the word." He grinned, lopsided, and stepped back. "Could always go after whatever bastard did that to 'er," the most abrasive of the trio put forth. Thankfully, Bones' previous words filtered back through his head, and he frowned, Booker turning his head back to the dog, his body between the two remaining pieces of his splintered family, gaze lingering between them. "Okay, recap - Dove," he started, raising a webbed paw to itch at the back of his head nervously, expression tightening. "I... may have a Merrymen guard in my burrow. She's hurt, bad. They left her alone, my guess is ta die." The best way to describe his tone would probably be not surprised. "Hasn't tried to kill me yet, which is a relief." That information re-established, he turned back to Bones, blinking for a moment before shrugging fluidly. "I ain't go a fuckin' clue," he admitted. "The selfish part a' me wants to try and convince 'er to turncoat, get one of the Merrymen on our side, keep an eye on what the hell Louie an' Mags have been doin'." Their names made his lip curl. "But considerin' that's kind of a shitty thing ta ask of someone who jus' almost died, I'm gonna go with the solid plan of flyin' by the seata my pants." A sheepish grin, and he was quiet for a moment, rolling his sister's words over in his head. Booker turned back to her with a determined set of his shoulders, tail twitching and cane dragging in the dirt, fire itching at his paws. "Diot will take care of Eridanus." He trusted his son, at least, to survive just about anything. "We should leave. All of us," the scribe added, shooting Bones a hopeful glance over his shoulder. "The Mother has survived before us, she'll survive after. What's important is getting out of danger... maybe... to Canis?" Slowly, his gaze moved back to Dovefeather. "I don't wanna lose you too, sis."