The scent of Tanglewood on the breeze is always cause for ire; the vulpine had found many of the previous visits from the swamp dwellers to his immense distaste and frustration.  With a new Luminary in command however, the Ardent possessed no certainty of the cause for an abrupt visitation.

Gael inclined his head as he approached the main coon, brows creasing in momentary thought as she spoke; her intentions made clear.  He had been unaware of the capture of Moth when it had occurred, thus unfamiliar with the healer herself, yet he could recall the circumstances of Atticus' joining.

The faerie knew well, the feeling of devastation for lost family and the confusion of finding them again -- his brother had been prone to disappearing acts, though he never died; until the day he did, a day the vulpine wished to forget.

"This may be a better question for Sweeny," Gael spoke after a moment of consideration.  "She may know better than I as his friend -- the boy has been quiet as of late."

He had heard nothing from Aine regarding injury or illness however, so ideally they had nothing to worry about.

"If is a comfort, my daughter is our Fleshweaver; she has not brought up any concerns about Atticus recently." Though if he recalled correctly, the youth had attempted to handle injuries himself in the past -- one such occurrence would not speak for every, however, if he had gained wisdom since that time.

The scene played by a broken record in his head daily. Traumatic and brutal, Atticus pictured the event with perfection. RUMBLE... Deep vibrations shook his childhood home. The boy, lost and confused, rose from his slumber. He stumbled out of his makeshift bed and tumbled to the floor with a deafening thump. A screech echoed from him. Not long after, his mother took ahold of him and watched as her children piled down the stairs in distress. She followed soon after. Moth staggered down the stairs as the roof above them began to CRACK! With momma’s boy in her jaws, her pace quickened. The earthquake temors grew. She grew uneasy. Her balance faultered. Moth slammed onto the floor, releasing the kitten from her jaws. Atticus’ flew towards the entrance, his ear being cut into within that time. With a skid, he came to a hault. Only to see her die. CRUNCH!

Moth succumbed that night. Underneath the beam of the door. She was steps away from her freedom, yet fate deemed her unworthy. The children were left motherless and in distress. While one child broke down and ran away, another stayed within Tanglewood in disdain. Upon the news of Atticus’ leave, his brother Ivan grew frustrated. He lashed out at his brother, proclaiming that he was a coward. The runaway golden child was adamant on not striking him back, yet eventually broke. Since then, he had yet to see his family or visit Tanglewood. Needless to say, The Roux family was in shambles.

As time went on, Atticus’ internal thoughts debated his choices. Should he have stayed? Could he have saved his mother? If he wasn’t in her jaws and ran like the rest, would she have lived? Was her death his fault? The guilt and shame echoed in his mind constantly as the memories of his past played out. RUMBLE... CRACK! CRUNCH! RUMBLE! CRACK! CRUNCH! RUMBLE... CRACK! CRUNCH! On and on. The dastardly musings would break his psyche. Even after a year of pondering, he couldn’t help himself. Sweeney’s coos of endearment left him questioning, Silent’s ominous sayings never assisted him, and the other’s words never filled the hollow void within his life. Atticus was alone.

His normal routine as an acolyte allowed him to patrol endlessly after training. For someone with all the time in world, he personally preferred it. As always, the male was an adventurer. Exploring the vast expanse of The Pitt was a gift, despite his familiarity to the situation nowadays. Even so, a new day brought a new nook or cranny. Today was no different... except... it wasn't a new cave to traverse or a skeleton to observe... The marvel before his eyes was not treasure, nor a gift from the gods. What appeared before his eyes was much more than that. It was a miracle.

The musty scent of Tanglewood's swamps oozed over his nostrils, alerting him of an invader as he patrolled. His nose raised high, sniffing the air. Atticus patrolled onwards, following the aroma to it's destination. In the distance he heard chattering, noting the Ardent's voice conversing with the stranger. The tabby wondered if he should go his separate ways, noting that this could be a business meeting, but continued to intervene anyways. He continued his journey over the desert's dune.

Yellow eyes peered over the sand dune, catching a glimpse of his mother. His feet froze. Atticus' heartrate spiked. His heart pounded against his chest as he let out a cry. "Momma?" What should he say? Was this a dream? Her crushed corpse flickered in his memories. Yet here she was. He stumbled wearily forward to take a closer look. His wide gaze surveyed his mother up and down, truly lost for words. Every stripe was the same. Her soft eyes. That damned smile. But why couldn't he believe it? Was the Devil messing with him? Had Ivan decided to play with his head? This had to be a dream... Yet he pushed on. He raised a paw to her cheek, delicately pressing against her skin. Her familiar warmth radiated from her pelt. Atticus gasped for air as tears began to well within his eyes.

He swallowed. A shaky rattle escaped his throat as he exhaled. "Momma..." Atticus moved his paw over to his eyes, trying to divert the tears elsewhere. His eyes lowered to the floor in shame. Crocodile tears fell into the sand as he sobbed. "How?" he questioned. A teary gaze realigned with her own. "This can't be-" The boy choked on his words. "Can it?" Once again, he raised his pawpad to her cheek and stroked her soft fur. While the evidence was presented before him, doubt swelled within his mind.

"How?"

/concussed post, be nice ;u;

Atticus croaked as he returned his sentiment. Her soft pelt pressed against his chest. Warmth radiated her aura, internally causing his heart to skip a beat or two. This is real. Whatever she was... was real. The boy leaned into her further, placing his head into her shoulder. Tears continued to flow from his eyes. "It's really you," he blubbered.

Whatever had happened... He didn't really care. If this was a curse, dream, or a blessing from the God's above, the chance to see her face again was a pleasure. Even so, the back of his mind wondered. Atticus' stomach turned. Falling from the heavens had to have it's consequences, right? The tabby suppressed the thought again. 'This is fine,' the acolyte repeated. 'Death is permanent... sometimes.' His mind told him to be grateful. Doubting this would cause dismay to him and his mother. Being there for her was now his priority, no matter the cost.

Home was where the heart was, but he couldn't tell where he lied currently. Was The Pitt was his home or should momma's boy run back to Tanglewood? Sweeney would be disappointed. The Pittians he had befriended might disown him, just like Tanglewood had done so long ago. Atticus couldn't help but to think further on the subject. Until his decision his made though, he planned to spend as much time as he could with Moth. There was so much to catch up on.

He pulled back, looking around at those had gathered. Weary eyes attempted to lock with their own, offering a nod of thank you. After all, Tanglewood was technically an enemy. Allowing his mother in was a change in pace, perhaps for the good. Atticus swallowed. "We should catch up," he muttered, turning his attention to his mother. "You should stay with me for awhile." Atticus hesitated. "Please." He knew the concept wouldn't seem ideal to her, but he hoped his presence with worth it.

A yellow gaze narrowed in on Gael. "If... that's alright?" he questioned. "If that's not possible, perhaps I can take a few days off from my duties and go to Tanglewood?" His tone pleaded for approval. There was no telling whether Tanglewood would accept his presence either.

The vulpine found himself blinking. Rarely, he found exceptions to those who would rather hold onto their hatred of an enemy forever than ever consider a casual offer of aid.  Of those exceptions, they were often those more inclined to healing, as Gael realized Moth must be -- she may be the medic someone captured during Kydobi's reign.

Aine's wariness was palpable however, and the Ardent decided to incline his head.  "Perhaps we can make it something of a book trade.  I still have some of the notes I used when I began teaching her, if you would be interested."

Unfortunately, many of his larger, more expansive medical volumes had been lost prior to their arrival in the Pitt.  The thought of finally replacing them enthused the faerie, though he maintained his neutral demeanor, giving the reuniting family some space.

He glanced down at his daughter as she shuffled closer, eyes softening.  They had seen the dead return to life before, but he understood her confusion -- the reminder of their loss.  Gently, he brushed his fur against hers in comfort.

Gael raised a brow as Atticus made his plea, caught off-guard once again.  He had his doubts Vigenere would approve of such a thing, but the faerie tended to value family more than politics.

"It is okay with me," the Ardent offered after a moment of consideration.  "Whichever you are more comfortable with," he added, words directed towards Moth.