Deepwood Weald Blood Cult

Had Tuvaq ever felt guilt before? He was pretty sure that, if he hadn't in the past, he was feeling it now. The boy hadn't seen Abaddon in a while, but he had sworn to be here if he called, and... he was looking forward to it. Abaddon had been a two-time fling, Tuvaq had decided, after he met Acheron. The freckled boy had been his downfall, and he would do his best not to disappoint the other boy tonight. 

The blond approached the small group, hazel eyes flickering over the occupants of the field. Abaddon was unmistakeable, and he'd seen the woman before, but he did not recognize the child. Perhaps they both belonged to the bi-eyed man. 

His nose wrinkled at the offering the woman provided. Still living. "We torturing things, now?" he asked boldly as he approached, tipping his head to the side as he looked up at the white wolf. It wasn't he who had half-killed the coyote. "Didn't think that was what we were gonna be doing tonight." Disapproval, maybe.