Blackfeather Woods i have brought nations to their knees

last post for me and khal. feel free to post once more or archive as is. :-)

Nyx is proud of him, he can see it written in her smile — as to which he thinks is the first time he’s ever seen her smile. It is nice, he thinks. She says it is her fault too, and perhaps, he thinks, she is correct in that but it also sounds like a bit of an excuse to him. The wolves she does keep in her company could afford to show her a small smidgen of kindness once in a while; but he reminds himself that kindness likely has no place in this abysmal, soul sucking Woods. Or perhaps the supposed “Gods” they worship forbid anything of the sort. It is true, the Soturi is growing to become frigidly apathetic (he was never meant to be a kind natured beast anyway) but he finds the longer he is here the less he agrees with their ways. There is a difference between being apathetic and being well …whatever they were. The dead that mark their borders is unnecessary. Killing should be a necessity — not murder for the sake of sport or decoration; and he struggles to believe in anything that he can not physically see, feel or have any real proof of existence. And he finds himself mulling more and more over Miraak’s talk of when his usefulness ran out that he’d be killed. Not their choice to make. Even if there were such things as gods they were not the brotherhood. The brotherhood were wolves like any other: they could bleed and they could die.

The soturi’s expression darkened and his glacial gaze is distant and he only realizes it after a long moment staring at the start-lit pattern on her coat, as if it had hypnotized him. He gives a slight shake of his head and offers her a sheepish, cheeky grin to (hopefully) dispel any worries she might have had. “I’m going to go see what else I can hunt, maybe help out with the caches.” He tells her, to dismiss himself. “Enjoy your breakfast, Nyx.” He speaks over his shoulder with a quirk of the left side of his mouth in a partially charming, partially devilish smirk before he goes back into the heart of the woods, keeping true to his word: he scents a fresh fox trail and follows it with eagerness using the task as distraction from treacherous thoughts that have consumed him lately.