Chapter Text
“Little Ghost.”
The vessel in question tilted its head, ears perking in question. It slowly trotted over, resting on its knees next to the red hunter.
Hornet observed her sibling for a moment, lips pursed in thought. She brought one arm up, a moist cloth in hand, and rubbed at its cheek.
Ghost stiffened away from the sudden cold contact of the material, a rushed breath of air coming from wherever its nose may have been as they smacked at Hornet's hand, pushing the offending object away. Hornet lightly bapped it on the head in retaliation, before looking at the cloth that had been removed from the other's face.
She blanched.
“Stars, Little Ghost- you're filthy!”
Ghost huffed. It pointed at her own face, gesturing wildly. Hornet scowled. “I am not dirty to the point of it, quite literally, staining my clothes. At least I bathe occasionally. You seem like you do not bathe at all.”
“…”
“Hot springs don't count.”
Silence.
Ghost stood up. Hornet tensed. “…no. Do not.”
The smaller out of the two immediately bolted for it.
“LITTLE GHOST OF HALLOWNEST YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT-"
…
It didn't take long for the hunter to track down her sibling.
And, considering she found it laying facedown after having slipped on a puddle in its hasty escape… it wasn't too hard.
Scruffing it like a palace pet, Hornet slowly made her way back to the alcove the two of them had been sheltered under, briefly glancing at the statue in the middle of the city plaza before ducking back under the ledge.
“Look what you made me do, Ghost," she muttered, setting the other down. “I'm soaked. When we find adequate shelter, we are both washing up.”
Ghost seemed satisfied at that, rolling over from where it lay where Hornet dropped it. It watched as she pulled off her soaked cloak, wringing it out before placing it on the slightly drier ground. She sat down, and Ghost scooted over to join her in rustling through supplies.
Various belts and packs were detached from the two travelers and placed on the ground to categorize. Ghost pulled out its journal and sat against the stone wall, a quill in its hand as it carefully sketched out the appearance of its latest new enemy. Hornet glanced over.
“Did you write these entries, sibling?”
Head shake.
“Ah. Just the pictures?”
Nod.
“You are quite a wonderful artist,” she observed, surprised. “Even lessons from the most renowned artist in the White Palace could not get me to that level. Did you teach yourself, or did someone pass along their skills?”
Sheo, but it wasn't like Ghost could say that. Instead, it flipped to the page it knew his likeliness was on, and tapped on its sketch of him with the back of its quill.
“Ah.” Hornet blinked at the image, tracing a finger gently against the long-dried ink. “…Truthfully, I do not recognize this person. They seem familiar, but I cannot quite put my finger on it.”
“…”
Ghost stared at her. Hornet looked back.
“…Who wrote these journal entries, sibling?”
“…”
It.. actually didn’t know. Not that the entries helped, anyways– the words were legible with an incredibly large amount of effort, and it wasn’t exactly optimal to crack open the journal during a fight– not to mention, there were a limited amount of entries that were actually written by the original author. The rest? From others, friends who added their own two cents in at Ghost’s prodding.
It would’ve written them in itself if it knew how to write.
Hornet seemed to catch on to its confusion, though, and she chuckled under her breath, shuffling closer.
“It will be a few days before we reach the other end of this city on foot. Perhaps in our downtime, I could go over the words and letters with you?”
Ghost looked up at her in surprise, then nodded. She smiled.
It looked weird on her. Weird, but not unwelcome.
“How about I go over the basic alphabet with you for tonight? Until the both of us find it satisfactory enough to sleep, that is.”
…
The next morning found nothing but a few letters carved into the stone.