Blackfeather Woods my mind is filled with cataclysm and apocalypse

Normalcy has begun to settle in and in it Kahlil finds routine. He spares no thoughts of his biological family and though he misses in the dark of night when he cannot escape the catacomb of his dreams that which still calls out for her (though he is no longer able to deduce where it is his mother or twin) his memories are beginning to fade, whether it is because he is so young and bound to happen or because he wills it so with such a ferocity he cannot say. To survive among the Blackfeather Woods he must become one of them, as if he was born in these very woods as if he came from Nyx’s own womb. He must kill the lion and let the titan be born in full; and he’s almost succeeded. In a few more months as his physical transition continues both in growth and coloration so, too, will he be so consumed by Kahlil until there is nothing else left. It is the only way. To protect his Teaghlaigh even if he believes, in the depths of his heart, that he will never see them again.

He rises, sometimes before but mostly at the gentle kiss that Nyx leaves upon his crown each morning. It has become a motherly gesture that he does not always receive — especially if he wakes and leaves the den before her — but when he is a recipient of it he enjoys it. It is familiar to him now, and warm. A strange thing considering the harsh and dark culture the Blackfeather wolves have. This morning, he rises just a little before the sun begins it’s climb though it will be several hours before it breaks through the opaque canopy that yawns, seemingly endless, above him. He strays away from the borders simply because he has not yet been instructed how to deal with loners and does not want to be a nuisance to them before he could even be useful. Kahl still hates patrolling but it is a necessary evil and if anything he could take to an enforcer or intimidator role as he is better suited for being warrior over guardian, personal preferences aside.

He gives a small pause to stretch before he takes to the territory contented to explore and maybe seek his breakfast from a cache since he will be missing breakfast from Nyx. He is not yet old enough to hunt for himself (an annoying fact, that) but he feels a little bit better by his belief Neo cannot hunt for himself either as he has yet to see his rival (one of them anyway) brother hunting on his own (which does not mean Neo cannot hunt it simply means that Kahl gleefully assumes such as he had never witnessed it). Kahlil is all too eager to remind Neo forcibly that just because he is a month (or so) older than Kahl himself means nothing in terms of dominance and will not automatically see him victor. Kahl is tundrian and it is not in his blood to be submissive. Kahl wanders where he has yet to explore of the Woods, careful to avoid the places that Nyx had been diligent in informing and regularly reminding the boys to stay away from. Kahl dutifully gives those sub-territories a wide berth …for now, anyway.

There is a slight rumble in his stomach but for the moment he ignores it in favor of exploring lands yet uncharted to him assuming that he will stumble upon a meat cache eventually and can sate his hunger then.

*monopolizes all khalil threads*

She is home, and she feels safe again. The forest leaves a puzzle piece in you, something that is left unfinished the moment you stray away from its permanent shadows. When she is home she feels whole, her magic flares to life within her and she can stride with confidence rather than with skulking fear.

She reaps the bounty that had bloomed for her in her absence, uncut by her pickings and collecting. It is her second trip this morning. She tempers her impulse to pick the Woods clean, knowing that the Woods need to grow, to replenish before summer's end, so that the winter, should it be even half as cruel as the one past, is liveable for the whole pack.

Her mouth is half full with leaves, bound tight in a broad leaf, lest the juices seep into her tight grip. She moves from one picked patch to the next, eye scowering for the next vital herb, her head sweeping wide to allow her single gem of an eye to see both sides of her. Through one of these sweeps, she sees a child. It is not one of her own, she knows. She fixates on him for a long while, then calls out to him. Who are you, child?

thank you for joining! ♥

It is not a meat cache that Kahlil stumbles across; or perhaps it is not he that has happened upon her but rather her that happened upon him. Regardless, a voice calls out to him distinctly femme in it’s cadences. It is not Nyx’s voice that has beckons him (clearly he thinks because Nyx already knows full well who he is). Kahlil gives pause in his search for a meat cache, lips pulling into a terse line as his stomach lets out another, soft rumble of protest that it is still empty, but turns to face the woman that has asked for his name. It is a fair question the tundrian thinks — seeking to bridge the gap between stranger and acquaintance. He is surprised, however, to take in the woman with his sharp, glacial gaze that she bears a pale pelage. Kahlil had been beginning to think that all the Blackfeather Woods, save for Neo, Vaati and himself are all the deepest colors of umbra; there is a certain relief to knowing it is not just the three of them that bear pale genetics …though Kahl has noticed the dusting of soot upon his extremities (the ones he can see, at any rate) and is unaware that he has begun his physical transition. Not that, mind, he wanted to have anything in common with the two other boys. One he calls brother out of necessary evil, to keep Nyx appeased but the rivalry will always exist so long as Neo continues to try to be the most dominate — not something he will ever win with Kahl. Tundrians do not bend the knee. Not to anyone.

“I am Kahlil,” The honeyed voice of boyhood not yet hit puberty dampens the effect he goes for. In time, his voice will take a husky, raspy and deep croon like whisky steeped in smoke; the voice befitting a tundrian. “Kahl, for short.” There is something about the sound of kahl that appeals to him: something that is desirable and commanding in the sound it makes as if it is a title befitting a warlord of a different world. “Who are you?” The spiderling returns the question in kind with a slight cant of his head, studying her, eyes lingering upon the scar(s) at her eye with muted interest. Abruptly, he desires them. Not her eyes, but scars also not hers but in general. For what is a future warlord without scars to make him as such? “Your scars are beautiful.” Kahl murmurs in compliment to her unable to help himself nor the fascination his tone has taken and he ghosts towards her a few steps in the hopes that he might get a better look, absent the thought that she may not share his sentiment on her facial scars.

There is no woman of age to birth a child, nor would one as old as he go unnoticed for so long. He must then be a foundling, someone brought into the fold by a member of the Woods. His pelt, like many of those who enter, is of earth and soil rather than the darkness, ash, and snow so many of the Wood's born or longstanding inhabitants are shrouded in. He is young, younger than her own children, and yet moves with a confidence assured of someone much older. She wonders who he is and who brought him in and how he got here. She prays that his disappearance has not yet been linked to the Woods, not when they were so weak.

He gives his name as Kahlil, or Kahl, but whether that is a name given to him by the Woods or from his home is uncertain, and overall unnecessary. She will call him Kahl. I am Potema Melonii. I am the priestess here, and once I held the title of Listener, She is out of favor with her brother Damien for now, but so is Cicero. Neither have ascended to the Dark Council. Instead, Nemesis' wayward daughter, Nyx, takes the mantle of Speaker, a job best suited for her other brother, no matter how mad he may be. Or perhaps even her own son Vaati.

His words come as a surprise to her. Beautiful? I've never heard them be called that, She smirks in half amused confusion, wondering what exactly about her scars intrigued him so much. He steps forward to see them better, but Potema holds her ground, waiting.

The woman introduces herself as Potema and titles herself as Priestess and once Listener. Slowly, under Nyx’s instruction he is becoming more well versed with the ranks that make up Blackfeather Woods and it’s Dark Council. “Listener is the High Priestess,” He states aloud, rhetoric, to prove that he is not ignorant despite his status as “outsider”; that he is not so easily to be discounted. He is destined for great (and perhaps terrible) things and he will not be cast aside so quickly. Kahlil absorbs information well and hardly needs to be told more than once. Idly, he wonders what she has done to earn a demotion but does not ask out of respect for privacy and because it is truly none of his business. He was more important things to concern himself with why she is no longer Listener. “Haven’t you?” The tundrian murmurs in a soft, honeyed ‘tsk’. He cannot explain his fascination with the mars upon her flesh aside from the solidified knowledge that someday he wants scars of his own. Scars that mark his accomplishments so he may wear them proudly and vainly upon his flesh always for all to see. The circumstances of which she was given hers remains unknown to Kahl and he does not ask running off the assumption that if she wants him to know: she will tell him and if she does not wish him to know they she won't tell him.

He speaks what she thought was a guarded secret. Either he had been here far longer than she knew, or he was very well informed. Either way, she nodded to him in approval. Who taught you all this? She inquired, though she had an inkling that it was Damien, always interested in new blood. What else do you know?

From what she saw of his eyes, he was fixated on her eye scars, drawn into them. She wondered if she had been cursed or charmed lately to entail the enraptured attention of men lately. With Vandal, she reciprocated and enjoyed the attention. With this boy Kahl, she was reviled by it. Perhaps it was because she was not a warrior, or that she had treated many an injury, or because the trauma was too great, that she didn't think of her scars as something to be proud of. She turned her scarres head away.

oops i thought that was something kahl should have been being taught; my bad. :0

At her question as to whom was teaching him such things he lifts a shoulder in an errant shrug. Why did his teacher matter, he wonders? Wasn’t the most important thing that he was being taught? Perhaps not. Nevertheless, the thespian keeps it elusive not really answering her question. “I know that Damien is the Dark Master and that he is the johtaja,” The Tundrian falls freely from his lips without his consent, surprising him when he does finally notice. “— ah, leader.” Kahlil translates, sheepishly. Lotte’s teachings of her native tongue apparently refused to go anywhere even as Kahlil kills more and more of Roarke as each day passes. He does not think of his family …replacing them for Nyx, Neo and Damien; but he is tundrian and he will always remain so. Despite that he clings to a part of Lotte (only because he tells himself it is what he is too) he cannot help but get swept up in the moment of thinking that using tundrian might serve as an advantage. Kahlil watches as she turns her head away and he realizes that his staring has, perhaps, perturbed her. “I know that Nyx is Speaker,” That one, was of course, obvious. He should know his Guardian’s rank, her importance to these wolves (or perhaps her perceived importance, at any rate).

“Can you heal, Priestess?” Kahl asks Potema, eager to switch off the subject and perhaps mend what insult he may have unintentionally given her by his fascination, tucking it away that wolves don’t appear to enjoy having their scars stared at. He adverts his eyes out of respect and acknowledgment that perhaps his staring makes her uncomfortable.

Nah it's fine. She's just impressed and kind of confused because she's been out of the loop for so long.

She nods. He is also my brother, She says with a slight smile, because that didn't seem to have the same worth it did so long ago. She was a mother first and a priestess second, and it was for that reason that she had slid down the slope yet again. The foreign word he speaks nearly makes her stiffen, if only for the translation that comes soon after. Her curiosity takes over despite herself. What language is that? She inquired, her unfamiliarity and fear giving way to interest.

She nods again, the information still rubbing her the wrong way. No matter what goes on between him and Cicero, no matter how mad Cicero might be, he still had much more experience than Nyx ever could. Even if it was nepotism, though that was nothing compared to the blatant favoritism she saw with Nyx's rise to power following her mother's departure.

I am the resident healer here as well, If she could be of any use to the pack, it was in that way. Even if her position was stripped and her influence gone, she was the only one who could properly collect, store, and use the herbs in Meldresi's Keep. You've been to the tunnels, yes?

ah, gotcha! :D

Kahlil’s brows rise in consternation as Potema drops, casually, that she is Damien’s sister even offering a slight smile that the young sotapäällikkö notices does not, perhaps, quite touch her eyes. Kahl does not reiterate upon what she has probably already deduced for herself: that he wasn’t aware of that shared connect of flesh and blood between them. Roarke had siblings, Kahl cannot help but think, foggy mental images of Malliadh and Eirlys are conjured in his mind but they writhe and contort and like will-o’-wisps they dance and vanish from his mind’s eye; Kahl does not extend effort to try to hold onto them. “I have only ever heard it called Tundrian,” Kahl replies, thinking that if it bears any other name (Finnish) that he is not aware of it. Potema speaks that she does, indeed, heal and Kahl’s interest is piqued, his tail giving a few wags as he sees an opportunity and deigns to seize it; providing Potema was willing, of course. “I am a warrior,” He announces and then corrects himself with a toothy grin, “— well I will be.” He amends. “Would you be willing to teach me a few basic things, Priestess?” He inquires with a tilt of his head. A few basic things could very well mean the difference between life and death; besides that Kahl is not so single minded. He desires his arsenal to be full so that he does not need to rely (too much) upon others. “I’ve heard of them but it was one of the places that Nyx warned me not to venture.” Of course, that never guaranteed that he would but for now he sought not to disrupt or perturb Nyx with disobedience; not when Kahl feels he owes her better than that.

Nothing more is said of her brother, and she is glad of it, wanting to draw herself away from the politics for the moment, especially when just introducing herself to this young boy. The language he speaks is called Tundrian, though it is far from the only language belonging to that of the northern tundra. Kove and his family spoke another tongue, far removed from this however. Are you fluent?

She smiles, always eager and willing to teach someone a few things. It was rare to hear such a request from a self-announced warrior, but she appreciated the opportunity nonetheless. I'd be happy to.

Potema frowns, wondering what madness had seeped into Nyx's head. She is a fool to say that. The tunnels is where my collected herbs are — it is a safe, hidden place for us to move, undetected should enemies ever invade, or be protected if natural disaster strike. She had only been through the latter luckily. Despite many threats Blackfeather Woods had not been invaded. And she would like to keep it that way. Explore it when you can. It may prove useful to you.

“I am,” Kahl replies to Potema’s question regarding his fluency. Lotte had been teaching him and his siblings her native tongue as they were taught to speak common tongue. Though he realizes it is probably dangerous it is the small sliver of his biological mother that he defiantly holds onto. He is tundrian and why should he forsake his blood when there is no real connection to it and Teaghlaigh? There isn’t and he shouldn’t; thus he does not. All it connects him to is the northern nations likely far outside of Teekon Wilds. Potema states that she is happy to teach him basics in the healing arts and for a reason he cannot deduce into something singular — perhaps because he is greeted with a mixture of things from varying wolves of the Woods and thus was not sure she’d be willing to teach him due to his status as “outsider” among them — he is almost relieved to hear it; nevertheless it is close enough to relief to alert Kahl to the fact that a part of him had been preparing for rejection to share her knowledge. “Thank you.” The soturi rasps in honeyed voice of boyhood yet absent the deep whisky and smoky baritone of adulthood.

A frown of his own tugs the corners of Kahl’s lips down as Potema claims Nyx is a fool — at this his lips smooth into a terse line — yet as Potema lists the advantages to the tunnel it does beg to question why Nyx would warn him and Neo to not venture to them. “Hmm,” Kahl hums as he contemplates the sharp contrast of what the two women have told him in regards to the tunnels for dangerous and protection were two very different, and extremely contradictory to one another; and given that he is no reason to believe one woman over the other he is left in an stalemate on who to believe. “Perhaps I will.” He surmises for it will be the only way to deduce whom had it right in regards to what the tunnels were: shelter or death trap — something that Kahl was adventurous enough not to be deterred by (even though, perhaps, he should have been!).

She wonders who taught him that; two languages instead of one. It was rarely for fun; mostly out of necessity or a desire to cling to tradition. It makes her intrigued about him, and his past. Where had Nyx or Damien (or perhaps both of them) taken him from? Did he come willingly or was coerced, or taken in during a time of need?

She didn't ask, not now, but nods to his other question, another smile crossing her face. It is quickly nullified when he frowns deeply after her statement. He is attached to Nyx, she is a source of stability and protection and learning. She notes with a bit of relief that, even though he took offense to her words, her advice still had merit in his mind. Is Nyx your...mother? She shakes her head at that; Nyx is too young. Guardian?

Kahl is taken aback slightly when Potema asks him if Nyx is his mother, or rather, he is quick to assume if that is the role she has taken. Mother? Nyx strikes him as a little too young for that role and even if he does not know her exact age she does not fill that role for the young soturi. “No,” The titan offers her simply with a soft furrow to his brow as his ears flutter back to rest at half mast atop his skull. “not mother.” Though Potema shakes her head, as if she has come to the same conclusion as he. Arturo’s place is easily taken over, he is, unfortunate as it is, easy to forget and easy to replace …but Lotte? No. She is not near so easy to replace to him. She carried him in her womb for three months, she gave him life. That was not a bond one could easily sever, nor fabricate; especially when he defiantly still clings to her roots; but how could he not? He is tundrian. He has taken her culture, her language, her build as his own. He will grow to be a bear like his mother, only tempered by Arturo’s coyote genes in the slight narrow of his muzzle. “Yes, she is my guardian.” He agrees though he suspects the question is almost rhetorical at this point. He does not want to diminish his appreciation of Nyx, nor cast her aside simply because he is not born of her womb: the end remains the same he needs her as he would need his mother. He is dependent upon her for survival; though this will not remain so for very long.

For now it is Kahlil's reality and Nyx is in his gratitude for taking him under her wing.

He is taken aback, and she is certain that he wasn't completely manipulated into forgetting his family and past life. It makes her thoughts on the matter even more conflicted, as she poses her next question. Then your mother, is she dead, if Nyx is your guardian? Potema turned her body, gesturing with her head to the nearest tunnel entrance, moving them along as they spoke, the conversation now more personal.

Forgetting his Teaghlaigh was not necessarily hard: he is young and not quite three months of age when he’d wandered away and was brought to the north east by The Stranger. Time will cause those memories to fade but his will to forget them will, hopefully, cause them to fade quicker. He does not want to remember them — and not for any reason then he believes it to be safer for them if he does not. Never betray The Family. To forge a new identity for himself and through it a new past then by extension he was not betraying The Family. Kahlil eyes the tunnel as Potema gestures to it, ears cupping forth to attention atop his skull. She assumes his mother is dead though is asking him for confirmation upon it. Kahl isn’t sure why it much matters but he needs a story. “Yes.” His voice catches in a genuine tremble as it occurs to him that for all purposes Lotte must be dead to him. As he must make his heart and his soul: Eirlys dead to him as well. It was the only way. To do so, though, would be akin to severing his heart from his body: to surrender it wholly. It’s a necessary evil, he tells himself. Being apart from Eiryls though, he feels as if his heart is already missing: a pathetic echo of hollowed space where it once used to beat sturdy and strong within it’s prison of flesh and bone. He would never be whole without her. “What of it?” Kahlil demands, true to form. Why does it matter? He subtly implies. He is here, Nyx is his Guardian and it is what it is.

She knows that the question, if her prediction was true, would hurt him. She saw the pain in his face but said nothing of it, instead pressing against him for a moment. The pain of losing a mother, whether permanently or brief, was scarring. She knew it better than most. I want to make sure that Nyx didn't wrench you from your mother; that you truly chose to be here. Potema enters the cave first, leading the way for Kahl through the initial darkness of the tunnel, until the narrow passage opened and brightened, the soft blue-green glow of the worms illuminating them both.

this seems like a good place to wrap this thread up. Feel free to either post once more or archive as is. :-)

Potema seems awfully interested in the circumstances of his arrival in the Woods, ensuring that he was not ripped from his mother. For all intents and purposes the story, the lie must stay the same. He must say it so many times, like a well rehearsed line, until it becomes his truth. Until he believes it to be fact. It is the only way. “I was alone when she found me, do not worry. The wolf that had escorted me here from the Enok Tundra had left me a day prior.” Truth enough. The Stranger that had stolen him east on the promise of returning him home had abandoned him and if not for Nyx’s discovery of him he would have likely starved to death. He is sure to rectify that: to be prepared so that he never found himself in that situation again and if, by some chance he did that he would not be helpless. On the matter, Khal had nothing else to say and trudged dutifully along after Potema, turning his gaze to the softened glow of the tunnel he had been warned not to enter, wondering why Nyx would forbid him from seeing such a wondrous sight.