Sun Mote Copse i told the devil to take you back

Roarke. She calls him by a name that is not his own, looking for someone that Khal has erased from existence. Not entirely — not to her or anyone else but for himself. Roarke Fearghal never existed. There was only the Enok Tundra, Nyx and Blackfeather Woods. Yet, the stranger rushes forward all the same to greet him and there is a curl of his lips to tell her no. No. He is not her Roarke. He is not who she seeks and she will drown in hope that she should not feel. For calling out to him, to who he was, was like trying to get someone with total amnesia to remember who they were. “I am Kahlil,” He tells her realizing that his words likely sound callous and unapologetic as they slip from betwixt his lips in a voice. “Kahl for short.” Even now there is a power to that preferred nickname and he feels it as it sends a soft shiver down his spine. “You from around here?” Kahl inquires with a small gesture of his muzzle, meaning the Hinterlands or the Wilds in general; but he doesn’t ask her what she’s doing out here on her own because that would be nothing short of hypocritical and Kahl knows he is sick of being asked that by adults that stumble upon him during his ventures.

He can hunt for himself, he can fight and he grows by the day, pudge melting away to hardened muscle that defines him as a titan of the tundra; and he revolts against the idea of an overbearing adult. He is self-resilient and tenacious. He needs a pack but he no longer requires that constant supervision and coddling that adults seem so fond of; and he suspects that this girl doesn’t either. They are of the same vein of wolf, he and her, Kahl feels; and in his cruel understanding of the world this either makes her another rival to add to his growing list of rivals or an ally. “Who’s Roarke?” The soturi asks knowing it is a question that might prove to kick him in the teeth but it seems like a prudent question especially as he was called such by her.