Moonspear or something deep inside is dying

He strained to catch a taste of salt in the breeze, desperately hoping that it would transport him back to the days when he had been a mere cub -- wrestling with his brothers and his sisters, training even then to become a warrior. It was a skill important to their culture, to be sure, but it had been lighter back then. A choice.

The storm had stolen the choice, his family, and the sea from him. Kaylan could only fight, train, kill - if he did not, he would not have survived. He did not know it, but his malnourishment had forced his body to destroy the less vital areas of his mind to make energy; base instinct was most of what remained. New socialization would bring him closer to normalcy over time, but Kaylan would always remain changed.

He started at the unexpected words, and spun with hackles risen and posture ready to defend and throw his opponent. But it was Floki that greeted him, and with a posture that indicated he was no threat. The white beast forced himself to relax; the berserker rage faded, but he still looked uncomfortable.

"Floki," he tested the name, a returned greeting. He did not yet have the trust to call him brother.