Lion Head Mesa i hunt the wilderness in myself

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Offering advice upon chiding tongue, it would seem, has garnered the leviathan more than he has asked for as the chimera responds claiming that whom he saw before wasn’t him. Initially, this strikes little more than skepticism within the Atlanian because his eyes are fully functioning and he knows that physically he did not see two different wolves. It was my brother the chimera speaks causing Axolotl’s pupils to narrow in the icy, glacial pools of his irises because the other was confused, as far as the leviathan was concerned. He’d only seen one physical being. The leviathan is no stranger to outlandish tales, though, as a shaman he has heard many and with varying reaches of believability. He has mastered the terse look that does not betray him either way though he listens nevertheless, the cup of his ears forth atop his skull an offer of rapt attention. He speaks of a brother in his head. He has heard of chimeras from the elder Atlanian’s: two beasts merged together within the womb. It is rare, he surmises as the male before him begins to cry, pleading for help that the leviathan is not sure he can offer.

He is not sure Atlan can truly help.

He cannot cure a chimera. They are born as they are and if it is truly two personalities sharing a body that is two in one well, Axolotl thinks there is nothing to cure that but what one brother seeks: death. He grapples for some sort of answer but he has none. This is, admittedly, above the Atlanian’s pay grade as it is not a common problem he has dealt with. “What do you hope I can do?” Axolotl asks because he is uncertain of what the stranger is precisely asking of him. Help is vague and though there is likely some sort of ritual he may be able to conduct with Atlan to offer some sort of aid — or comfort at best — the leviathan cannot change DNA or resulting consequences of genetics.

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