well, he hadn't expected to hear that none of his predecessors had ever thought to expand their territory, let alone go south. truly, he couldn't blame them for it. who would have ever thought that there would be anything aside from endless ocean to the south, when they didn't even have the boats to make the trip? an irritated sigh left the tom as he made his way along the under-water railway tracks, pausing to watch the fish shimmer and gleam in the waters below, gray eyes tracking their movement as his stomach growled. shaking his head, he lifted his head to gaze around and exhaled, scrunching up his nose at the damages that he could see all around himself, his heart squeezing in his chest. was everywhere just as savagely hit as tanglewood was? he hoped that the other group had made it out alright, even if they were perhaps exploring an area that sounded like it belonged to tanglewood. how far did their borders extend onto the waters?

shaking his head with a derisive snort, the tom would come to a stop before the gates and the bell that would summon the members of the typhoon. standing there, he would glance up at the skies and let out a weary breath. he had taken a small patrol with him, of those who had wished to go with him to the typhoon to ask about boats. he wanted these boats to in honesty, go south and find this island the typhoon spoke of, but he'd noticed after the storm, that in their exploration, they'd discovered more wetlands, more open swamp in their regions that they hadn't been able to access before. but he wasn't going to reveal that he wanted them to go south, that was an unspoken thing. reaching up, he would ring the bell with all his might.

[glow=silver,2,300]destiny is moving[/glow] — ?
#psy.

The damage the storm had wrought was visible in every land he'd made passage through, every territory he had waded through and every person he'd interacted with. They were all struggling and recovering. Gaze trailing the designs upon the Typhoon's gates as he waited with as much patience as he could give, which was in truth, a lot. Too much perhaps. Shaking his head, he set down his basket with its meager pickings, a few packets of dried herbs that had managed to survive the storm, as well as what little dried fish he had been able to rescue from his dry storage high up in a hidden tree nook.

Gaze prying away as his ears picked up on the sound of someone on the other side, automatically making space for the impressive gate to swing open, blinking through at the ruffled sight of Sherbet. Truly, he thought that with his unfamiliar appearance, they must not have met properly before. Something he was sure he was to come across with the other groups. Exhaling in a bit of a startled manner, he would set his basket down and bow his head in return. Luckily, this time, he'd remembered to bring with himself a manner of writing materials. Laying down a piece of soft bark, he took a metal nib quill and gripped it tightly before beginning to write upon it, "Cap. Sherbet. Good visit. Here I visit. Ask for boats. Bring supplies." he was aware of how messy the script would be, watching as the damage to the soft bark turned a darker shade as the veins in the bark became crushed under the quill's weight. It would truly be easier to try and contact him through mental connection but most everyone he came across hated it, and he wanted to keep a good cover with The Typhoon. A young voice reached his ears and brought the tom to look around, eyes lighting upon young Loki, nodding in greeting to her with a smile.

[glow=silver,2,300]destiny is moving[/glow] — ?
#psy.

Perhaps it would have been better to have used a different body for the laborious task of meeting with others. A body that he could speak in. Shaking his head at the thought, the Luminary would clear his throat faintly as he observed Loki and Sherbet, listening attentively to them as they spoke. Drawing his basket closer he would lift it and put it before himself with a wave of his paw as blooms of myrtle appeared and grew around the rim of the basket. Giving the plant-life a semi-exasperated expression, still becoming used to the newfound ability that he could grow plant-life on other things than himself. Carefully, he would pull back the scrap of cloth covering the basket to reveal the satchets of dried herbs and fish laying within, writing onto the bark once again, "Meager offerings. Not much left.", he would give a grimace of a smile.

Lifting his head, he pointed his ears forward and tapped his throat, making an 'X' motion in an effort to express that he couldn't talk. Nodding as Sherbet spoke he would write once again, "We give lumber. Nails too. Boats of any kind. Not too big. Enough to stand sea's wind.", he would write. What was the use of having the skills of a smith if they were never used? Clearing his throat with a disgruntled expression, he flicked his tail softly as he settled a bit.

[glow=silver,2,300]destiny is moving[/glow] — ?
#psy.