It could be said that the Trickster that lured his father into a watery grave was merely a figment of the old man's imagination. After all, he had been weary and ragged from his searching, and his body had not been as young as it had once been. Others would have said that the Trickster was very much a real entity. Illidan had not been there until the very end; he did not know what foul things had lured his father to his death. And still, the child felt as though there was a dark shadow that had been cast over him. The Trickster had found him and was holding fast to the young man's spirit.

Searching the mountain for a place where he could slump, Illidan prowled with an intense expression and a chilling rise of his hackles. The boy had changed drastically since Liri and Kavik had picked him up; he had been shattered into a fraction of what he was intended to be. Still, he hung with them. Even when his tongue felt a sharp lashing for the others – those he did not respect nearly as much – he remained with the white female and her mate.

Kavik arrived with food. The smell of it was just as tantalizing as it was sickening to the child. The ribs that jutted from his sides seemed to heave at the thought of filling himself with a fresh kill. The dark male plopped his prey in front of the boy, forcing a clench in the child's gut. A soft nudge to his cheek was the only thing that was offered to suggest that the food was intended for him. Were he older and far more capable of holding out with stubborn pride, Illidan might have turned it away. Instead, he glanced toward Kavik with sharp yellow eyes before nosing the dead hare and then taking a few bites from the most tender portions of the body.

After having eaten a small amount, the child drew his tongue along his muzzle and breathed a deep sigh. His stomach was no longer rioting against him; his detrimental hunger had been sated for a short time. Knowing that the dark male did not have to do something like that, Illidan cast him a sidelong glance and stiffened some. “Thanks,” he muttered quietly.

The dark man was trying to be helpful, Illidan knew this much. He wasn't simple, but he was deeply rooted in a pessimism that would not release its hold on him. The more he thought about the words of hope that Kavik had tried to instill in him, the more it made him bitter. He was wrong, of course. Illidan knew that he was wrong, but he wasn't certain if he was willing to fight the caretaker on the matter or if it would have been better to simply nod his head and remain silent. The burning of anger was within him, and the child frowned before looking to the older man with sharp yellow eyes filled with hurt.

“Won't it though? I think that's just life... it's hard all the time, and then you -” his words caught in his throat. He couldn't force it out because it was still too fresh – too painful – and he wasn't capable of coping with the difficulty of it all. Life is hard, and then you die. For the first time in his young life, Illidan felt a pang of resentment toward his parents. They had made an active choice to bring him into the world and they were to blame for the misery that had followed. He expected nothing from the earth anymore.

Kavik was right about one thing; there was nothing that could be said to make him feel any better about the circumstances he had found himself in. All of the support and care that he had received from the two leaders had done nothing more than make him feel a sense of worthlessness that had burned a hole deep in the pit of his stomach. He had nothing to do with them; he had no place among their kind. Illidan was far worse than any of them would ever be, but he had no means of communicating this to the dark male who watched over him with a careful stare.

“You're too nice,” the boy finally uttered with a furrowed brow and a glance toward the dark-furred brute. It wasn't really an opinion, but something that he had felt in his marrow since he happened across Liri and Kavik. “People take advantage of that,” Illidan then added, pulling his attention away from the green gaze of the other man.

They were all so full of hope, so ready to prove that he could be anything but what he was. He didn't understand where their words came from. He had not known the support of others before. As each day passed, the family that he had known before had grown fuzzy and difficult to see. As much as he wanted for it all to vanish, the memory of his father was still as clear as day.

“Thanks,” Illidan provided in a tone that lacked any form of gratitude. It was a poor reflex, and one that would easily be seen through. It didn't matter, though; nothing really mattered. With a silent nod to the dark male, Illidan moved away and sought the darkness.