Blackfeather Woods the brewing storm

As the child shrunk beneath his stare his features softened. He had not meant to frighten her in any way, he merely intended to make a point and ensure that it was neither ignored nor misunderstood. The continuation of her speech told him that whatever hesitance she might have had was gone, his approach not leaving behind any lasting effects. But her words were still worrisome, and he fixed her with a stare that showed just how great his concern for her was. He wondered what it was that scared her but, with war on the horizon, he suspected he had an answer and bothered not with asking. His words, instead, went towards a promise: “I will teach you about Sithis and the Void after the war has ended. You do not need to worry about those things right now.” For teaching her now might place over her head the threat of death, which he could not permit to happen. The northerner was her teacher, as well as cared for her quite deeply—he would not allow her death to come before his own.

The hints of a smile tugged at her lips, making the entirety of her face light up before his very eyes; she was pretty, a bright light existing with the purpose of creating paths where there were previously none, and leaving a great mark on the world around them. “I’m not nearly as skilled with the Daedric language as I should be,” he admitted. Truthfully, he knew only that which was meant to be spoken in prayer, having not the means to actually carry out a conversation with it—or teach it, for that matter, which was why he did not offer to teach her. “If you’re ever interested in learning, I could teach you Inuttut,” he offered instead. “It is not spoken by many around here but, if you ever decide to visit the north, you will find many that speak it—and some that only speak it.” He was reminded of some of his family members, both distant and elderly—likely having passed by now—who had never learned the common tongue; being where they were, and often having no intentions of leaving home, they’d never had any need for it. “My children, too,” he continued. “Not my daughter here, she never learned, but my son and daughters that live beyond this place speak it. If ever you were to meet them in your travels, I am sure the language alone would earn you their assistance—from my son, especially.” He knew not if any of his daughters even remembered the language, but he was certain that Alexander had never forgotten it; the boy had always been so keen to it, to imagine him having forgotten was like a work of pure fiction.

There came a question that he was not too interested in answering, but he could not let his own feelings cloud that which she was permitted to hear. “You do not need to worry about what happens,” he assured her. “No matter the outcome, I will make sure you are not harmed. Even if that means taking you far away from Blackfeather.” The only alternative was to let her die, and that he was not the least bit okay with. “I do not know the specifics,” he continued. “I know only that members of this pack did something that our enemies could not forgive.” And for the actions of few, they all would pay the price.