Silver Creek he is beloved and he is feared

as tempted as kjalarr might be to rid himself of the accursed thing from time to time when given the opportunity he balks from it. which causes kjalarr to grow uncomfortable as he's forced to realize that he relishes it more than he's willing to let on. in the darkest of days where it feels like the gods have abandoned him it serves at a ( albeit cruel ) reminder that they have not. they give with one hand and take with the other. that is simply their way and their silence should not be mistaken for absence. gods do not talk. they scream in a tongue so archaic that it is lost to the sounds of the world around them and often goes unheard. it is not their fault that kjalarr is deaf to them more than he should be.

the coywolf remarks that it's a pity and kjalarr does not react aside from a slow blink and a bird-like cant to his head. what an interesting little creature, he thinks. a collector of oddities, perhaps. "so it would seem." kjalarr responds, lifting his muzzle ever so slightly in dismissal. kjalarr is determined would not be the first one to walk away, however. there is no where near enough trust for that and so long as the coywolf remains in his general vicinity kjalarr wants to keep a firm eye upon him out of habitual distrust and the knowledge that the other male wanted to covet his eye.