What care we though?

They'd been sent, shipped down south. Things had gotten a little weird in Dread's world for the time being-- when were they not? Ghosts kicking up around his shoulders, and he's never been good at being on his own. Never. Dread's shoulders ache, sides ache. Thank fuck his tracking skills were still enough.

Not where they'd agreed to meet, but not far, either. Dread picks up the trail among the cedars, gaze quick and nose keen. Above him, the lights that... should have stayed in the north. It doesn't sit right with him, and it hasn't. Not as he moves south, and not as he finally manages to track her down. Shining against it-- "Fuck, if you aren't a sight." Words breathed against the darkness, rakish grin playing over his face.

"speech"