Moonspear words are weapons

Tevinter supposed that he understood Floki's confusion, for in many ways it mirrored his own. Only, their circumstances of what bore their individual confusion were quite different. Floki, and the other, whose name Tevinter could still not draw to the forefront of his mind (or perhaps didn't want to) did not understand that he wasn't the same. Because of what he suffered, and in part because of how Scimitar and Bazi had raised him. They had played their own part in shaping him into Tevinter, in giving him direction and a family. He owed them everything for there had been nothing that had said the Frostfur's had to take him in. With four mouths to feed of their own they hadn't needed a fifth ...and yet they had done it anyway. “I can't really explain it,” Tevinter concluded that they could not understand because they hadn't suffered as he had. They had not been (as far as he was aware, anyway) at death's doorstep twice (well actually three times now but the third was wholly his own doing but that was entirely besides the point). “I am called Tevinter now, sometimes I use the alias Kjalarr,” but it's significance to their supposed bloodline and his viking heritage was not to his knowledge.

“I have shed Jorunn because...it's not who I am anymore. The incident it...I washed up on a shore and walked for so long until my paws hurt and my stomach hurt,” Because he'd been able to hunt small rodents but nothing of true substantial. “I was taken in by Scimitar and Bazi Frostfur,” For the sake of not wanting to sound entirely insensitive he did not outright call them family; and yet they were. “They raised me as one of their own even though they had four kids already. They didn't have too but they did, and I don't know I felt for a long time that the name Jorunn had lost it's meaning to me.” Perhaps that was insensitive, but at the same time Tevinter could barely wrap his mind around his own emotions, let alone try to cushion theirs.

“Is that why no one looked for me? Why no one asked around at the packs? Because you all assumed I was dead?” For a moment, Tevinter was angry. He wasn't sure which option he found worse: thinking they hadn't really cared about him at the first place, or that they would sooner label him dead then bother to send wolves to search for him; and regardless it had hurt. Scimitar had sent the entire pack after Bazi, Allure and Swift. For them he would have torn the world apart, Tevinter did not doubt. Perhaps these comparisons were not fair of him to draw, and yet Tevinter could not help it.

“I'm not...I'm not the same, small child I was. I'm not the child you knew.” Of course he wasn't. He was nearly a “man” now; and five months was a long time to be away from his biological family. A family that he acknowledged, as when he allowed the older male — his brother — to close the distance and give him an affectionate bump against his neck. Did they truly want that heathen to resurface? Arrogant? Rebellious (perhaps even disrespectful)? The Jarl's son that fancied himself as some sort of heir to a throne of blood and bone? Those tendencies might still linger in moderation but even so Jorunn was not who he wanted to be seen as; even if, in theory, he would give into the call of his blood he did not want his Ragnar's legacy. He wanted his own. “This isn't this place I...we were born,” Tevinter corrected himself to include Floki, the unspoken question apparent in the words he did speak.