Another place, another name, a different location on the map that holds a gateway to something that she can’t define or explain but others could write magnificent stories at the mention of what lays beyond the barrier of trees.
Now, at the ends of their control, the world she knows feels smaller. The feeling of insignificance settles in like an old disease, one that’s she held for years but lived in ignorance of, brushing off the symptoms until they scream in her ears that nothing is right.
None of it brings the crushing sensation of fear, or even hopelessness, sadness, things one would associate with this. Instead, it comes forth with arms full of hopefulness that says she can put the mistakes that she has done in her past, that there’s a world out there that will give her the opportunity to get away from what it is here.
‘Something is out there,’ the vastness tells her, uncertainty battling with her courage. ‘just for you. Come on.’
Hobgoblin unsettles himself in his skin, breaks free, finds something new, a change of scenery, anything different what he currently is and what Sikeax is becoming or just being, and turns away, back into the world that has its plans seemingly all figured out.
“No.”
Stated with a sharp blade, welded with his tongue and the ache of sourness, ghostly body fading into the undergrowth and trees. It strikes her in the place where it needs to be,  exactly where it is, and sends her back to where she needs to be.
She trails like a loyal companion. There isn’t a reason for her to go back into the belly of the beast, this one larger but less vicious, no more jagged teeth and burning red hot words to scorch into her, but with the ominous feeling of knowing. This beast holds a power that doesn’t know it has, and for it, she feels even more like a runaway as she twists and turns in her new lifestyle to avoid the discovery that it does.
Night swallows them up without words. She carries their torch into the darkness though beneath the firefly light of a thousand, even a million, stars and the neglectful glow of the moon, lazy in its position, far from the day and the world and everything else, avoiding because hasn’t that what it has always done, she would have been fine. The darkness has always been more of her home, far from the light after so long of her youth spent so deeply embedded in it.
Hobgoblin chooses not to care. There’s nothing in it for him. He knows enough about the endless night as is, or at least as much as he cares to know, and if Sikeax doesn’t shy away from the cries in the unknown and the sounds of living remaining unseen, then it’s just another thing that he doesn’t have to care for.
Just the way he likes it.
She’s the one who takes notice of the bird. She fits so well into the fading, deep blue hues of the dawn surrendering to oranges and pinks that she can’t help but admire for a moment, standing still in the snow as her hooves mash sinkholes into them that won’t last. Movement sweeps the dark bird's  mouth into motions that she can’t make out, and while she attempts to reprimand herself from it, she can’t help be caught up in it. Loneliness haunts her like an old friend. The comfort of constant companionship in the Throat, something that she thought she would never lose, has become her downfall.
“The trees and the snow aren’t going to talk back, if that’s who you’re speaking to.”
Distaste ridicules her momentarily. Her eyes catch Hobgoblin’s gaze with her mouth agape, just enough to suction in a small gasp of air, brows knit but raised slightly, cursing herself softly for being caught off guard at him.
Here she tries to tell herself that she will avoid others, turn to a more secretive lifestyle where there is less risk, but she cannot drag herself away from the comfort of company.
A damned creature of habit.
“Don’t. Come. We go. Ignore.”
She wants to listen so badly, but she’s already made the commitment.
I can’t.
Her thoughts are whispers, fumbling over each other as they race to him on the wind that doesn’t carry them gently, but nothing about Hobgoblin has ever been gentle.
“But if you’re looking for that, the wind and the sea are more than their fair share of talkative.”
“STOP.”
The seriousness of his warning lets her little gasp, the one mentioned beforehand, tumble out of her lips and back to wherever it came from. She doesn’t apologize for her needs though. She’s yet to have met a harsh soul in the Threshold, and now, lacking the allegiance of a herd, there is no law stating that she must give away who she is.
At the end of this, she can simply fade into the wilderness, melt away with the snow and leave nothing but the reeking stench of sea salt that has nearly become the smell of her soul, content that she has cared for her needs but ashamed at the lack of self-control, punished by her soul’s partner, like fate would have for her.
Like always.

OOC: so i didn't know if you were wanting her to go to a herd or not but i literally couldn't resist????? forgive me i'm sin.
hobgoblin is in his wendigo form.

BTW, if the text is difficult for you to read tell me and i can either adjust the size or switch out the table for you!
"speak"