Iktome Plains Inop tuKua tikillugu

Whatever Kove had hoped to accomplish by dragging his son away from the woods would never be fulfilled. His question had received only a shake of the head and nothing more, not even a flicker of emotion that might suggest the child was at all interested. Sighing, he’d looked away from the boy, wondering to himself what he might need to do in order to capture his attention. Sharing stories with Keelut had done the trick, but each of the whelps were so different from one another that he doubted the effectiveness of said method should it be used on Atshen. Uncertain, and not knowing anywhere close to enough about his son to figure out the answer for himself, the Inuk asked, “What interests you?” He’d not bothered with turning to face the kid, believing that there would be no emotions to see, anyways.

The children from his most recent litter were different. They were nothing like the children he’d had with Scarlett, nor like any others he’d ever been around. They were peculiar little heathens, which he blamed entirely on Nemesis; where he believed the blame to fall was not something he’d ever share aloud, however, for he knew the sort of chaos such a statement might create.