Honeyed Pasture for thou shalt not be cured

Blackjaw. It did not sound like a god-given name, more of a description, but it was apt. The beast was a thing of blackness and his vessel seemed particularly fit, although Gilead wouldn't let his eye stray for too long across it.

He noticed the dampened topline of the wolf's spine and found it striking with its cinnamon tones, a direct contrast with the rest of him. That broad stripe of bright tones gave Gilead a lot to think about; he saw a symmetry between this wolf and himself, and again was left to wonder what his purpose was. If he was evil, he certainly had not given himself over to the Darkness quite yet — he fought a battle much like Gilead, with his fading.

Gilead, he answered after a moment of consideration. He was not keen on sharing his name most of the time but his thoughts were distracted. He added on hastily, a priest of the Light. And from that point, he watched for signs of understanding from this Blackjaw, and grew tense beneath the dripping sky. Perhaps the mention of the Lightbringer would cause a reaction — he had been taught that some words held power over creatures of evil intent, and he wondered if it would work with this stranger.