Vigenere Cipher. The name held no deeper meaning, nor any particularly strong memories for Aurum. The lion had not arrived in Tanglewood until long after Crow had already taken over after Morgan, and he knew very little of the leader before his arrival. He had heard some mumblings about the old canine, as well as the feline that he had evidently run off to be with, but he hadn't exactly cared much. After all, the guy wasn't around anymore, and Crow was in charge – well, Leroy was now, but at the time of his joining – which meant that pretty much all that remained of him was gone now. So, when Aurum was moving along the border in his usual daily patrol and heard the Savannah call out, he just lifted his head with vague curiosity, and no real astonishment or recognition. Making his way over, the winged lion tilted his head to one side before rumbling softly, "Vigenere...? Your name sounds familiar... don't think we've ever met before, though. Anyways, welcome back, I suppose. My name is Aurum, and I'm the proxy around here... do you need any help getting to town?" It was his usual welcoming spiel, but he felt it had worked pretty well in the past, and Vigenere had already covered the basic name and business stuff.

    Old faces never failed to bring a gleeful smile to his otherwise scowling face. Seeing as he was freshly homeless and unable to hack up the smoky sludge stinging his throat, Beck was in dire need of a reunion. The poltergeist long since surrendered his hope for returning to the glory days -- days passed and he needed to move on. Always move on. Lingering on a deserted friend always brought pain and not a good twinge of pain. Physical pain he could tolerate. Hell, he could even laugh at it once in a while. But the pain of memories? That was a completely different story. Memories hurt. They hurt a lot. Every time the poltergeist glanced at a landmark withstanding time or an odd token of someone's past, Beck gripped his chest in agony, cursing his feeble lungs as though the poor organ was to blame. Perhaps nostalgia would be a better term.

    Burning sulfur. He lifted his burnt nose from his paws, huffing at the air in the same aching nostalgia he fervently avoided. Sulfur, too distinct of a scent to be mistaken, was once the identifying cue for one of the early Tanglewood members. Yet no name surfaced from the depths of his muddled mind. Only the image of a scarred serval albeit features blurred by his faulty memory. His face scrunched at the indescribable familiarity. Had he returned? The little ghost scoffed and shook his head. No, he wouldn't have. He disappeared an entire year ago. And so, Beck returned to resting his chin on gauze-wrapped paws with a rasping sigh.

    His ears pricked when the voices carried to his hiding place within a briar patch. It only took a moment of listening for him to rear his head once more, hazel eye searching for movement in the direction. Vigenere? His brow knit before recognition slapped him upside the head like a rolled-up newspaper. Vigenere! In an instant he was on his feet, limping to the source as fast as he could.

    The poltergeist lurched from the surrounding foliage, fur matted with thorns and a sharp-toothed grin splitting his snout. He nearly barrelled into Vigenere's side, an attempt to teasingly tackle him and wrap his paws around his shoulders in a hug. "You're back!" he hoarsely squealed, tightly squeezing the taller male with unexpected strength in his excitement. If his cold little heart could beat more than a weakened whisper, it would be fluttering like a songbird in a cage, beating its wings against the bars in effort to express its joy.