She drifted. Delicately overland, she drifted. Gin couldn’t really tell how long she’d been here, or how long she was going to be. The long night had stretched on, but it too, had come and gone. All things came and went, rose and fell like the sea. The sea. Was it time to throw herself into the sea again? Maybe. It seemed like it should be. The comings and goings of life itself… she could find a new continent and start again. Would it be a waste? Maybe. Something told Gin that Boreas still had stories for her. The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale glow down around her shoulders. Nights were short now. Gin wasn’t the most fond of it, but the world around her seemed to be happier with the balance. Light reflecting off the water that flowed through the Lover’s Mangrove… it was pretty. All around her, there seemed to be a certain lively glow. The plants, right. Carefully, she cast her gaze upon them. Ah, there. Dipping in and out of view, Gin’s gaze fixed on the fish. Near-silent steps drove her to the edge closest to where they flicker in and out of view. Gin was careful not to cast a shadow on them, couldn’t let them know she was watching. She was hunting. They were quick, and she had to be quicker. Near holding her breath, the ghost watched them. She was coiled tight, ready to spring the moment one came close enough. Watching. Waiting. Silent.

The air was heavy with the scent of thick mud and salt water, churning together as Hattori pressed further into the mangrove forest. He did not intend on making a habit of coming out this way, but he couldn't help but think of the lessons he taught his daughter as he moved through the muck. How she used to be so clumsy, unsure on her paws only to stand tall and confident once fully grown. A part of him was frustrated his children had all taken their mother's side but he supposed it wasn't really a matter of him vs them. And even if it was, it was to be expected. He knew who and what he was, they all probably saw it too.

Raising his gaze from the squelched mud, he noticed a pale figure ghosting across the land. A yūrei, if he believed in such things. Though incredibly faint and hard to make out against the silk of her coat, Hattori noticed the koi markings and wondered what clan she belonged to. None of which he could recall right at this very moment, without prompt.

"You are far from home." He stated in his native tongue, in place of proper greeting.

Gin hears him, smells him, long before she sees him. The girl has a chance to run. She has a chance to depart into the darkness, and flee whatever fate will befall her here. She could disappear into the night and he'd be none the wiser. Why doesn't she? Why doesn't Gin disappear like she was never here in the first place? Maybe it's curiosity. Maybe she's been on her own for far too long. The ghost has enough time to disappear if she doesn't like whatever begins to take place. Right. Hearing her native tongue as it breaks through the silence of night is enough to make the ghost freeze nearly mid-step. Her gaze flickers to him... woah. His markings shout of home, brilliant and bright. Gin's gaze is piercing, as if to look directly through him and into him. Though her anxiety had spiked dramatically, so had Gin's curiosity. "I could say the same to you." The words were soft, tone cryptic as they carried on the wind. It had been a long time since her mother tongue cursed her speech, but some things were like riding a bike. "Why?" Why was he far from home, why was he here, why was he out in the middle of the night like this? So many whys... or another why entirely. The choice was his.

Her accent carried a strange lilt to it, familiar and yet somehow not. As though she was an approximation of a koi-wolf, knew the basic ins and outs yet couldn't quite get the true feeling down. Like someone had accidentally smeared ink across a pristine parchment. His ears flicked to the sides slightly, he did not think she was a pretender but he sensed she had not been amongst her kind for quite some time. Then again so had he,  Ashen had shifted and changed to suit him a little better but it had never been enough. Still too Klein and Abraxas, their influence everywhere he looked.

She was considerably smaller than he was, pale paws feather-light, her weight barely even shifting the mud beneath her. What places had she ghosted off two and why did her eyes seem to know so much?

"Because I intend to make something better. " He told her, intent on this, now more than ever.

He had lost much in the process, even now his toe throbbed in protest beneath his weight, but it was a worthy sacrifice. His point made.

"And what of you? "

It had been a long, long time since she'd been among her own, that was true. As a yearling Gin had spirited herself away. There were answers out here somewhere, if only she could find them. The island of her birth was too small, too isolated. Every place she'd seen, every place she'd been, every culture she'd gotten a taste of... they all had answers of their own, but they were all different. They had stories for her to collect, and each one she held dear, close to her chest. Maybe the answers she was looking for were close by. It was true-- some of the answers were. Some, but not all. "Better than what?" Gin had seen many ways of life. She wasn't quite sure if any of those ways were better or worse than the one that had raised her. None of them had been perfect so far... not perfect for her, at least. It was possible that the stranger before her was in much the same position. Maybe he wanted something that fit better. There was no way for her to know. Not yet. Still, Gin was careful as she watched, remaining perfectly still. "I collect stories," after all, that was the first reason she'd left home. Collect stories, look for answers, find her place in this big wide world. Curiously, she takes a single elegant step forward to study him better in the low light of the moon.

Than what? Hattori pursed his lips slightly, was he just talking about Ashen here? Or did he mean Iga, a mere shadow of the greatness it was capable of reaching. He supposed he had gotten tired of dancing to the beat of someone else's drum,  it had been enough for quite some time but it couldn't last forever. They'd both been overly eager to look away, to think the faults in their relationship were actually blessings in disguise. Perhaps he was being cruel, but to sugar coat his feelings were something he'd never been capable of. Some things just needed to be said, others not so much.

"A cause, legacy. The wolves here do not live as we are meant to. I intend to rectify that." And that was as deep as he intended to take it, a brief flutter of the curtain which granted her the slightest of views. "And what stories have you heard of Hattori Hanzō?"

Perhaps a little arrogantly he couldn't help but wonder how far word had travelled, if at all. If she was a story keeper as she claimed to be, then surely she was the person to ask. The sort whose ears always tipped towards the wind, listening and knowing things many simply could not out of an act of willful ignorance.

Gin doesn't shake from the careful neutrality of her gaze. There's nothing to shift or change it-- Gin is, simply, as she is. Still, there was something else bleeding into the way she looked at the man, the stranger with the horns, who had appeared before her. What struck her as strange, though, was the fact that he'd appeared to her... the ghost usually revealed herself to others. This was different. Another careful, high, drifting step towards him as he spoke of a cause. Gin's ears twitched, first one, and then the other. What would his cause be? What banner would he fly above his people to unite them?

The man asks of her stories, he speaks a name. Hattori Hanzō it comes, and her thoughts spin for a moment. Is that his father, his grandfather? Is that the man who stands before her, asking with a bit of vanity? Gin's expression does not shift, does not change. She remains demure, though a small smile bleeds into her tone of voice. None so far, though I don't typically deal in the stories of those who walk among us. No, Gin deals almost exclusively in the tales of the deceased, and the tales of the immortal. It's likely for the best that she hasn't been taught the stories of Hattori Hanzō. What the ghost has yet to understand, though, is that she'll be present for the writing of such histories.

What kind of legacy do you want to leave? The question comes after a moment of watching him, of looking as deep into his soul as she can manage with the common gaze. Her tone is soft, but carried a musicality that could almost pass for unsettling. Gin needed to know in the same way that she needed to know all things.

Speech

Hattori supposed she simply hadn't been listening then, her ears pointedly twisted to the sides as though the world of the living was something she could ignore. The world was changing and fast, if she did not pay attention then she would miss out on much. Regardless, he knew there was merit in her choice as stories of spirts and lost souls were timeless, able to cross oceans and landmasses and still ring true all the same. Or at least that was how he felt about it, as one chapter of his life was slammed shut

He shifted slightly at her second question, consideration sinking deep as he weighed the words in his mind. Thus far he felt as though he had left barely a mark, that he had fallen so quickly into Ashen's fold all of his achievements were swallowed up by the empire. There was worth and value in service, but if that was all he amounted to then...what was the point? He wanted something of his own, undeniable in his claim and obvious to all who saw it. He knew his children all took after their mother and rightly so, but in doing so they did little to contribute to his ideals. They'd taken her side, wanted nothing to do with him, even if it all was a mess of his own making.

"Something that is recognisable of our homeland. Why should we blend in with the rest?"

She's strange. Curious and strange. Gin can't help it, peering carefully at the stranger who speaks of creating something... something that spoke of home. This was a cause for intrigue. Another careful, curious step brings the pale creature towards him. One foot in front of another. The desire to listen to his words isn't a new one. No, Gin is a collector of stories, and that means she's a grand listener on top of everything else. She's happy to listen to the man, and what he has to say.

A pack that's like that of their homeland. It makes sense, the way he speaks. The way that he talks... Gin nodded once. We shouldn't, there was a glimmer in her soft, champagne gaze. She's electric with it, alive with it. We shouldn't blend in with the rest, after all. What do I call you? The words were soft, swift. She wanted to know, and she wanted to hear his stories. The stories... there had to be stories. How would she know how to tell his stories if she didn't know his name?

Speech

If nothing they could agree on this, that if other packs strove to emulate cultures from far away lands then why couldn't they? Ashen had been such a strange amalgamation, old and new struggling to blend together till it formed something that didn't belong to either the koi wolves, the Abaraxas or the Kleins. It just was, constant and slowly stagnating, like a lake that was no longer being fed by a river. But the image Hattori had formed in his mind was something that was solely theirs, a true home away from home. What all koi wolves needed whether they realised it or not. He would show them, both his kin and the world at large.

The ghost stepped closer and Hattori did not shift from where he stood.

"Hattori." He then told her, as was all she needed to know. "And you?"

With her soft, careful gaze, Gin takes him in at a close range. The moonlight was strong tonight, and she's more than used to it. Meeting him here was a strange twist of fate, but maybe she'd been more than ready. Maybe she had been for a long time. There was no need to stagnate, not anymore. They could do, and they could be, and they could be themselves. Though she's collected cultures, stories, pasts, maybe it was time for the ghost to return to her own. Maybe it was long past time to return to her own. Carefully, she regarded this man, who stood with his horns and watched as she did.

Hattori. Was this Hattori Hanzō? Had he asked for stories of himself? Ah, no matter. Gin would explore those things in time. He asks of her name, and she nods once-- just once. "Gin." She pauses for a heartbeat, feeling the need to elaborate under the weight of his gaze. "Mata Gin." But still, just Gin is all she's used to hearing. All she's used to saying, at least now. Though disquieted by the company of strangers, something about him doesn't feel so strange. There's comfort in identity, in culture. There's comfort here.

Speech

Neither of them were very conversational and that worked just fine for Hattori. He nodded, all that needed to be said had already passed their lips for now. He would not push or shove, they both understood one another in their own ways. Perhaps this meeting was fate, a sign that Hattori was indeed making the right choice, but he supposed he would see in time. If this was one big mistake, then it was his fault to bear.

He stepped forward then, knowing stories hadn't yet been told of him for a reason. That his time in the sun was fast approaching.

"Then come, there is much to be done." Her told her, turning to leave.

Holding a conversation had become hard, especially in the weeks following what felt like the end of the world. Gin had long learned that she'd learn plenty from keeping her own thoughts close to her breast, and letting others run their mouths as they would. Still, the silence that filled the space between her and Hattori was comfortable enough. Yes, an understanding that stood between them. Fate... that was yet to be seen, but Gin had a good gut feeling about this.

Then come, and so she did. There was safety in numbers. There was safety in the company of this man, or at least, Gin could trust that there was. Trust your gut, trust your intuition. She would do both. She could trust both. With more confidence than she'd had in quite some time, the ghost drifted after him.

Speech