Mount Apikuni No one 'round here's good at keeping their eyes closed.

The boy was old enough to follow behind the group. They had gathered many new faces, but he had very little interest in knowing who they were. His only concern was for Kavik, Liri, and Grezig; they had tended to him the most, and he felt as though he owed them a considerable amount. He remained as close to the trio as best as he could without straying too far. The dark stranger called Elixir was a good and quiet sort of wolf. Illidan found that he did not have much of an issue with her. It was the strange russet-tinged male that seemed to drive the young boy mad.

The group plodded along – mostly silent – with Thorleif in the background talking to himself about fish and magic powers, but Illidan had found his wits end. The hooded boy gritted his teeth together while the wild hairs along his neck and shoulders seemed to rise and dance with his irritation. When at last he could not contain the urge, the boy whirled around with mad yellow eyes and barked at the male. “Will you shut up?!”

Not much had changed since the boy had found his father's battered form. He had spent more time on his own; he had learned that he was his own best form of company. Illidan had also learned that he carried a piece of Kierkegaard within him, bound by blood.