Arrow Lake good evening, clarice

As the child babbled, Lecter's eyes grew infinitesimally cooler, the corner of one lip creeping up to expose the tip of a yellowed ivory in a harsh sneer. He did not take kindly to being mocked, though he took a far duller shine to being taunted, as this boy intended now.

Bloody coat? Sos? Lecter's teeth flashed in a ragged snarl. Do not presume to speak that name again, ignorant child, the madman spat, legs leaden with hatred as he approached the young wolf. It had been too long since Sos had spoken to him, too long since he had seen a single element of the home he had left behind. Even now, even as he had created a home along this lake and attempted to resume life as he understood it, Lecter was unhappy. And now came this putrid creature, the culmination of all he loathed in his kind, and anger blossomed in his icewater eyes.

And so the former Shearwater shaman lunged, muscles aching with disuse, and yet he was consumed by rage and desperation. Perhaps if he again raised an altar to Sos, dashed wolf's blood across the rock — perhaps then again would the Dark One bless him.