Off Kilter

Some time had passed since his venture through the haunted house. More time than he'd care to admit, actually. Mikko wasn't easily shaken these days except by certain...unmentionable things, but something about that house had rubbed him the wrong way. The wooden figures, the strings from which they hung, the interchangeable limbs strewn about the floor....He couldn't help seeing himself in all their fragility and crazed helplessness, and it seemed they'd sensed that it him too. He had new marks to prove it. But it wasn't his bent tail that had made him withdraw into himself, no; it was the image of rot that had burned into his memory, that of the puppets that reminded him of what his life had once been. And still possibly was.

Of course, he was still grateful for Shiba--and Recluse--and the guilt he felt over his elusiveness was very real and present. Yet, he felt paralyzed, stuck between new obligations and old fears that had risen back to the surface, and all he'd known to do for a time was...well, be stuck. Mikko was aware that this was likely to come back and bite him, perhaps literally, as he padded over rock and ash, but so was he prepared to take his punishment. At least he'd stuck around overall, and at least he was walking toward--not away--from his new keepers.

His steps were heavy, each one causing ripples through his plush but broken winter coat. For now, it seemed, he'd managed to shake the bird that had been lurking in his presence since his time in the house. Mikko had glimpsed the hawk in the skies every now and again--circling, waiting perhaps for him to drop--and was pleased to be rid of it at least for the time being. He had other, more pressing things to worry about right now...like Shiba, and whether he'd earned the loss of his other eye.

""