Whitefish River i have what you're looking for

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He listens intently as the other speaks, hard gaze unwavering despite his confliction. The other has a head on his shoulders, unlike Rollo himself bt with a suave he recognises they share. It is something he has not witnesses in another for some time, and he wonders what kind of leader he is, and what kind of enemies they hold. But then the word is spoken, a word he has avoided for many moons. “Family,” He murmurs, a word and its concept since estranged to him. Once he had known familial bond, once when it was a sacred thing rather than something out of necessity, and in he had learned that even the most promising of futures among those who would call you their brother were subject to abandonment, by the cold claw of a stranger. But the other says so in a way that does not make him think of the term family as blood relation but a bond. Not a family but a tribe, in some way. While the man is less inclined to embrace the idea of togetherness so quickly after chosen isolation, he knows he will not find a chance such as the one he faced in that moment, elsewhere, for never before had his angst been won over so easily. He was a creature of habit, but also instinctive survival. He would do what needed to be done in the end, even if it was cause for moral dismay. And with contemplating the possibility of his fealty, he knew it would not come a difficulty to follow in another’s command.

Rollo’s problem was not with compliance but with the idea of family itself, for following another was not nearly as similar to familial duty, even despite his understanding of what the term meant to the other, the concept was the same. He had served valiantly, and done so before with the obedience of a thousand loyal men. But what he had learned from it became a powerful tool in hindsight and pain beyond measure.. Perhaps he was not yet ready to accept such a change in the amount of time the other suggested his loyalties should adjust. “I am in no need of family, not yet,’’ His apprehension was spoken with a flicker of pain, visible only in his eyes as he cast them away, reason enough that his hesitation is justified. His eyes return to the other's awating optics; he was willing. “But I will follow you if you should have me, Arturo Fearghal, . . .’’ He decides, that his prolonged isolation sentence should come it its end and his purpose realigned to vouch for something other than himself. Eventually, he will learn that his lone wolf tendencies are not really his instinct at all, but a fall back resort he has long since adapted to. Eventually, that is. For now, he is man full of corruption, fury beneath the surface and a death wish the size of north america that has kept him alive despite inner most secret wishes, but should the other have him, there would be n need to fear what was the unknown. “. . . friend,” spoken with the slightest sign of fondnes but more with he determination and respect duitifully given, Arturo has captured the fealty of a man with little will of self preservation, and perhaps, saved him from permanent and irrevocable damnation.

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