Blackfoot Forest yes, it will, precious! it will get the hose again

your writing is so beautiful ebony. <333

A command had risen into the chill of the air for him, demanding his presence. Had the chill of autumn not been present before the command had hissed into his ears, Kerberos might have considered the possibility that it came from the voice of whom the command had came from. It was a voice that the Aok boy had hoped, vainly it would seem now, to never hear again in his life. For many moons since his arrival in Shearwater Bay the Shaman had tortured him, a frightened boy who no idea of what had happened, by hating him for seemingly no reason. It had been Nutaaq whom had broken the silence and cracked the mystery of where Kerberos came from. The truth of his parentage and true heritage had slammed him like a ton of bricks. Sense had been made them of the hatred Lecter had always harbored for him, on some sort of level. The truth having been reared up so suddenly, drudged up a lot of things that Kerberos had attempted to put to rest as healed wounds. Why had Nanuq lied to him, why had she, never once, in their moments together when he had not been seen by any of the Bay except for her, opened up to him? Had Aktaie truly felt no love for him because he was a spawn? Was he so easily tossed about because he was nothing more than a peace treaty, a pact? Obviously none of the Nereides had cared because none of them had came to visit.

A soft shake of his head was given as Kerberos obliged, against his better reasoning’s, to Lecter’s call, it was useless to think about such things. He would never know and those wounds, had healed. He would not let Lecter rip them back open. There was no love lost between either of them Kerberos was as certain of that as he was that the Sea moved, and so Lecter, by all rights, should not have held any sort of power to toy with Kerberos. Kerberos was not the small, frightened boy anymore. A slight twinge of Kerberos’ nose told him that he was nearing the Shaman, and it proved true when sea-green eyes pierced the space between, settling upon blood stained Shaman. Obviously, Lecter had not changed at all since the last time they had spoken. But Kerberos had (or so he liked to tell himself, at any rate).

Silence, engulfed Kerberos easily as he waited for Lecter to speak first. Silence had always been Kerberos’ best and most favored weapon, probably because he was good at it; and old habits of speak when spoken too tended to die stubborn, hard deaths.