Blackfeather Woods revolution is a self taught language

The man he knows as his father looks to him with a singular eye that holds little affection for him, if any at all. There was no regret, no remorse, nothing to suggest the man felt the slightest bit guilty for abandoning Vaati, his son, a third time and then being unbothered to seek him out upon his sudden return. Perhaps Vaati had not been heartbroken when the man had left, at least, he would have never needed to see or think of him again. But it was something about Kjalarr's lack of concern for his son that irked him, that when he spoke to Vaati for the first time in a very long time, it was presumably with a sense of distaste above all else.

The man speaks and Vaati listens with intent, but the underlying message of what his father means to say does not go over his head: I have come for her, not you. It drives the stake in further. Her. He has come for her. Her and her twisted ability to wrap her lovers around her finger. It is a trait that Vaati has inherited in a different form: sociopathic manipulation. The yearling represses a snarl but does not hide it well, casting his eyes away once to refrain from snapping at the man who cannot claims things he cannot fathom, not really. He fails.

"Then I suppose you should know she has birthed my uncle's children. But she does not take care of them. She is tainted. Whatever drugs she has currently infused in her system leaves her unresponsive for days. She doesn't eat unless you force her, she doesn't rest unless you drug her. She vomits, she has seizures, she doesn't live unless you make her. You should know that that is what you are getting into with her, don't be confused by whatever she has promised in regards to her sexual habits." He ends his rant with a grim scowl, knowing quite clearly that Kjalarr's infatuation with his mother is misplaced. She is no goddess incarnated like his father perceives. He does not know her and her self-destructive tendencies, the way she curses him out at every opportunity for keeping her alive. How she blames him for every wrong and every right, and how he still loves her but cannot look at her without wishing she was not his problem anymore. She is a curse, but Kjalarr, in his awe of her, has not yet seen it. Instead, he claims her like a prize that one would want to win.

He lets out a breath of air, letting seconds pass by before regaining a steady heartbeat. He returns his gaze to the man with steely optics, with a tone that held a nerve of condescendence. "You did not choose her, she is your curse to behold. You are her captive, but you may quickly find the title to be a little less erotic than you envisioned, when she is foaming at the lips at every other hour." His tone is bitter, an in a sense, insulted that the man should hold her on such a pedestal of hope and daring love when Potema, his mother, is incapable of such a thing to even her own children. Perhaps, he had hoped, that when she did regain those emotions, they would be reciprocated onto him. Not the man who had abandoned them, her and Blackfeather more times than he could count. But that too is foolish to wish. And it is foolish to assume that she would become any different to the Northener than she was to her child.