Lone Star Mountain In your eyes, there's a heavy blue.

sorry about the wait on this! :-(

Kerberos has never been well versed in Greek — an unfortunate consequence of him being sent to live with the Kesuk’s in Shearwater Bay — he became more Kesuk than he had ever and would ever be Nereides…or whatever the male version of their surname was. He honestly didn’t know. He knows of his mother, of his sisters, of the culture they live in but beyond that he has no recollection of them at all. They are names of ghosts to him. “That’s right,” Kerberos replies smoothly, giving a small nod of his head. He is, at least, familiar with the origins and meaning of his name: knows what he was named for and in hindsight of his recent life choices thinks that there was no more accurate foreshadowing. He was always destined for this darkness, in the end. Aktaie had made sure of it by naming him for the hell-hound. So a hell-hound I have become. It wasn’t his intentions, but even the best of intentions can easily become skewed and twisted to become terrible. All too easily.

He introduces himself with a name that Kerberos recognizes faintly from Seahawk Valley. It’s an old name …a surname of a different era. He cannot recall if he’s ever met any of this boy’s family members — that was such a very long time ago now — but the name sparks remembrance in him of a by-gone era all the same. “A familiar name. I don’t recall ever meeting any of your family though the last time I heard it has been long ago now.” It was truly a small world, or perhaps the families of the Seahawk Valley have simply multiplied and branched out and expanded beyond those boundaries. He was getting old. When did that happen? It felt like he was a small, sullen child hanging around the shores of Shearwater Bay and with a mere blink of an eye he was almost six years of age.

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