cryptwalker

Molly's talk of imaginary friends had been getting wilder and weirder for a few days. At first, Hen chalked it up to the birds of prey she'd been teaching her about. And the stories of the stars, those too. And dad's stories that she'd been sharing with the kids... maybe she'd been encouraging the little pup's imagination too much. Then again, maybe they hadn't been so imaginary. A flash of light, and then they were just... gone. Not dead, no screams, no violence. Henbane was certain she would have felt the fear in the air in the space they'd left behind, if they'd been scared. There would be some sign of them, if they'd gone unwillingly.

Stranger things had happened. Perplexed, she's spent the last few days trying to track them. Had they gone... willingly? Hen is pretty accustomed to adventuring on her own, but for some reason, this one sits a little more heavily on her chest than usual. It's okay, though she's feeling a bit grey as she faces the wind. Taking this opportunity to slip from her spot, haunting Insomnia's borders, Hen returns to the only place that's ever felt like home. Making her way toward the Crypt, her heart squeezing to find that this, too, has been taken over by a pack.

Swallowing back the feelings that threaten to rise up, she pauses. It's a defined boundary, and she's too tired to look for any trouble. What strikes her though... is that dad's scent on the breeze, too? Too unsure to call for him, but too hopeful to turn away from it. Henbane would hover around the boundary and hope beyond hope that the wind off the mountain would shift back in her direction.

"Speech"