Silvertip Mountain Headed towards a fucked up holiday

“I wont,” the girl hummed. Kitsch did not usually find herself in a leadership position but now that she was here [and it was such a small semblance of authority that she had], but the ingenue didn’t know if she truly cut for the task. Yes, making decisions was fun, or at least it was when she pull the strings behind the mask — but such liability was daunting. The girl who trembled in her faint delicate embrace, according to her story, had no one else to turn to. ”I’m Kitsch.” What was Kitsch to do now, with a girl so sad that she could do nothing more than cower and cry? Though that question continued to plague her, Kitsch knew that she could not forsake the wraith for she, herself, had been in a situation so familiar, so recently. When she had been cast away by nothing more than the will of the gods, Kitsch would had killed for a the light in her dark, dark world — and Kitsch was more than happy assume that position. 

Plus, if she turned away, what would Prialux do? Die?

Even though Kitsch was determined to not leave the girl, but wasn’t sure bringing Prialux back to the pack was the best decision; she hadn’t exactly curried the best favor with any of the members of the family, after all.“Should we… look for them?” Kitsch spoke [as if there was hope that this Murgash and the bay pack were simply misplaced] and heartbreak eeked from between her pale lips, as she knew such sadness and it was something of an empathetic, out of body experience to see it in the flesh. Kitsch didn’t want to probe the gentle wraith too much, but needed a clue — any intimation — to show her their next move.