Blackfeather Woods I'm sitting in a railway station, got a ticket for a destination

Kjalarr cannot help but feel that he’s missed something vital and his frustration at the fact is palpable. He wouldn’t want to follow his own lead, let alone the lead of his son. There is just something that it extremely off putting about it ( perhaps it’s simply that his testosterone rages and regardless of how much he tries to change his core makeup never will ). Potema has appeared to accept Vaati’s claim for what it is and Kjalarr risks her wrath with the incredulous noise he makes. He knows he is a captive and he knows he has no choice in the matter but he doesn’t accept it because it directly affects him too. “Potema,” It is ( too much so ) easy for Kjalarr to assume the role of protesting husband father because he’s seen where this path will lead in his own life, at his own paws. “So you will stand aside and let a child that should not be left anywhere near any kind of leadership position claim command of a pack when all he does is make mistake after mistake that, in your own words, bring Blackfeather closer to ruin?” Perhaps Vaati will surprise him but Kjalarr has very singular and very strong doubts about it. “You truly trust him not to get this sect entirely slaughtered by the enemies I assume he’s made in your name?” Kjalarr’s ears flatten against his skull. “If he is truly anything like me I know how this will end, Potema and it will not be with Blackfeather as the victors.” Arrogance is a familiar mistress of Kjalarr’s and it appears that his son is overly familiar with her as well. Kjalarr knows that arrogance only brings with her one ending and it’s never good for anyone involved.

His protest is forgotten about as she seizes ( well he thinks that’s what is happening but he’s not really sure ). His concern for her is overwhelming and crushes everything else. His vocal concerns about Vaati are insignificant as Potema has her episode. She vomits the contents of her stomach, splashing his paws and sandy stockings in her sick but Kjalarr is unconcerned about that. It will wash off. He presses his nose to her cheek, lips skimming the velveteen cusp of her ear as he presses his body against her’s to offer his bulk as something to lean on should she need the aid. He isn’t sure what he should do, isn’t sure if there’s anything he can do regardless. ”What happened?” He inquires softly when he thinks she’s come back to him from whatever place she’d gone to for those brief moments.