As nice as dark black forests are as metaphors, the practicality of one leaves much to be desired. Not that he's on bad terms with darkness, though trees are another matter altogether; it's just a question of visibility, and ease of travel. And when was the last time Zagreus ever felt...pursued? Hunted even? That's a new one, even for all his paranoia, with some notable exceptions. What lives in woods in his dreams? He could hazard a guess. He gives the woods a disgruntled scan, until his eyes alight on something monstrous, sitting silently where his blind spot had just recently been, and he tenses a bit before recognition sets in. Visual recognition, yes, but also--yes, the spirit creature again. How odd.

"Hello again, Frightful," he says, not unpleasantly, for all the insouciance of refusing to use its name. Truthfully, though it's attempting to be a distressing number of things at once, and not presenting a good facsimile of any, he likes the thing, however begrudgingly and surreptitiously. Even if it is a walking identity crisis, threatening to tip him over into discomfort any minute. The creature greets him with a rough exhaled rumble, the closest any big cat can get to a purr, even a mythical abomination of one. Could be resignation, affection, threat, displeasure--it's a little limited in its expressiveness that way. Otherwise it refrains from any commentary; perhaps having existence sprung on one unexpectedly is offputting.

His identity crisis is currently looking just as uncomfortable and uneasy as he feels, goat ears flicking nervously, otherwise preternaturally still, expecting the worst. Zagreus feels much the same...and yet. Forests are for exploring. No one just stays put, that's not how it goes. And the devil you know is always preferable--time to find it and get to know it, right? With unspoken agreement, they set off, wary and alert.