Boartusk Heights Some might say "euphoric", no, there's really no words for it

He snorted. There couldn't be just three. This part of the world seemed jacked with some whacked-out Blackthorn magnetic pull, and who's to say there weren't more just lurking in the shadows, rubbing their spontaneous little paws together for the best moment to pop up and make some grandiose reveal? That seemed a Blackthorny thing to do. They simply didn't come in small, quiet numbers.

But at least the ones Ceara listed only formed a blank canvas in his mind. They all sounded familiar enough, probably from stories their parents had told, but he couldn't put a face to any. He must've been too young when they'd left. Lynx, Colt - those were nicknames for sure, and he felt a glow of jealousy. Why couldn't his parents have taken a second longer to think of something like that for him?

At the end of things, he would just have to trust Ceara on this.

Tuathal followed his sister as he recalled the collective misadventures of the North. Trouble put it lightly. "Everyone I meet thinks I'm out to bite their heads off, so that's something. I mean, I know I'm not that smooth around the edges, but c'mon. If you slink up on someone without saying anything, or poke someone when they clearly can't see who's poking them, what do think they're gonna do? Blow you rainbow kisses and frolick through the woods?" He snorted a laugh, but his brow furrowed. He remembered too clearly the fear written on Adeline and Larkspur's faces when he'd snapped at their approach. The thought still left his tongue tasting bitter. He wanted respect, but he didn't want that.