Coming into Tanglewood, Atticus felt his stomach drop. He hadn't been here in... a month? The thought was strange. It had been so long since he'd been home or seen his family as a whole, but would it ever be complete without his mother? Even so, while everything was still so familiar, he could point out the subtle changes to the territory during reconstruction and the personal touches new members provided. The realization was off-putting. Change. They had moved on away from Atticus. No one had went looking for him besides Ivan, but even that wasn't in goodwill. Had his leave been that much of a burden?

As the boy led the them through the swamp's thick underbrush, paws subconsciously directed him towards his home. The shambles of destruction remained in their place. Every piece of debris had been left alone, left to rot in the swamp's morning mist. Amber eyes watered at the sight. Had no one cared to clean? Had they wallowed over the crumbs of their home? For a moment, he remained in place, just taking the area all in. He wanted to stay, say hello to his family and cry on their shoulders, but would they even accept him? The failure. The disappointment. The one who left.

Not acknowledging his momentary pause, he barked out his command. "Let's go." The grey tabby trudged on past the house and further into the green forest. It wasn't long before their group reached the library with the original Tangler's help. They knew their directions: steal the books from Ivan and then leave. Unbeknownst to him, Sweeney had an other agenda.

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A long time had passed since he visited The Pitt. Still, Ivan cannot forget his brother's pleading, bouncing around in his head without escape. No doubt guilt was eating away at him, pathetic pile of skin and bones as he was. Somedays he hated every single being on the planet with every ounce of his young essence, and then would suddenly shift to hating himself. He could not understand why he acted in this way. He truly was at a loss and scraping empty air.

Something that seemed so monumental to him was insignificant to all else. Leroy hadn't even mentioned Atticus' name in the last meeting, and Ivan, acting out of a guilty conscious, had spoken up when nobody else did. But he hadn't told anyone in Tanglewood what he'd done. The few times he did see his father now, he wanted to tell him, but immense self-loathing held him back. His father had already suffered enough.

The air shifted in the library. Ivan snapped to attention and immediately his eyes were drawn to the corner in which he had hallucinated a demon after his return from The Pitt. There was nothing there. His lip curled slightly over his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Static noises fizzled in his ears. "I know you're there," He thought. "Show yourself, coward."

To his immense shock, he noticed Atticus with Sweeney. Pittian scent assaulted his nose, but he stood stock still as if he was beside himself and that he couldn't believe what was happening. Most of his days were spent in the library now. After Selby taught him how to read, it was all Ivan cared to do. He was currently fascinated with poems and plays. Shakespeare's Hamlet, Schiller's The Robbers, and Pushkin's Belkin Tales were some of the copies not too far away from him now. Ivan raised his hackles in hatred, but did not say anything or raise any alarms, and he would torment himself over this mistake afterwards.

Throughout the journey from desert to swamp, the vulpine had been quiet -- deep in thought.  While the desire to offer new books to his daughter fueled a portion of the faerie's motive, in truth, the vicar had not wanted Sweeny and Atticus to dive into enemy territory on their own.

Gael knew what it was to see a broken home.  Even when he remained far away from the land he came from, he remembered the deep pit in his gut -- the ice in his veins.  Consequently, he offered no comments, no reprehension, for the idea of this expedition, nor the way Atticus paused before the ruins.  The boy was terribly young for all this suffering to befall him.

The vulpine blinked as he regarded the inside of the library.  A brief thought of his cousin's daughter crossed his mind.  He knew little of Kiira, yet if she were like Raziel in any way, she'd likely spend some time within the confines of this building.  This late however, it appeared not so -- Gael would rather not deal with anyone giving away their trespass.

The satchel at his side was large enough for a few tomes, though the faerie stood by the entryway a moment longer -- hazel eyes glinting in the dark.  His ears perked sharply at the low sound of a growl. 

"Leanaí," his voice is soft in a gruff warning, to tell the children they were not alone.