Blackfoot Forest you speak like constellations

the dark pelaged stranger speaks words that only encourage disappointment within the silencer. it fills his mouth with cotton and his chest with stones. he cannot believe that the infamy of his family is not well known within this place. cannot believe that his mother's words would be wrong. but, kvasir convinces himself, perhaps the dark pelaged stranger is as new as he to these wilds. perhaps that is why blackfeather woods holds no real significance to him. it is in thinking this way that kvasir keeps his disappointment and suspicion from crushing him. maybe, the silencer allows; considering and faraway.

my name...? kvasir is almost perplexed for a moment, unused to being asked in such a direct manner. does it matter? he wants to ask. i am kvasir. faithful servant of mephala and silencer. the titles autocomplete themselves in his brain but do not make the push from vocal chords to his lips. instead, they swarm around his chest like contained bees. useless to him here and now. and you are?