Multitudes of people had come and gone throughout his afterlife, some he knew, some he didn't. Many abandoned him without a final word, many never acknowledged him at all, and few stopped to bid goodbye to the little poltergeist. It was a cycle he was more than accustomed to by now. So far, Tanglewood was the only recent exception. Partially because of his own fault, and partially because the animals he led were, well, animals. Not the humans that had ignored or feared him so many times before.

    What was different between the two was a mental discussion for another day -- a distantly familiar scent was wafting through the air, quickly catching his otherwise flighty attention. Tar-black nose pointing downwards to the overgrown ground, a rasping sniff or sneeze occasionally wracking his apparition as he searched any sign of a scent trail. Singling out the scent through the interfering ones of previous clanmates going about their daily business, the wafting trail led Beck to their fiercely-defended border and its source. The blurred figure of Volatile briefly gave the skittish feline a shock, not recognizing the maine coon and instinct driving him to fall into a defensive crouch. After a moment of harsh squinting, he recoiled and rolled back onto his haunches, owlishly blinking in recollection. Beck had only glimpsed the returning rogue from afar, but luckily, his overworked memory didn't fail him this time. "Oh, it's just you," the boy drawled, swiping a chemically-burnt tongue over his teeth in lazy fashion before adding on, "Who are ya again?"