Northstar Vale it's forged from things

he is approached and immediately feels his body lowering into a posture that defers to the pack man as the superior. this comes most naturally to gojira, a spark of those ever warring and conflicting instincts within him. tall, torn ears perk and twitch as he processes the words. help? his head tilts to the side as he regards the stranger. ah, he hesitates, thinking. no, no. no help. gojira protests, misunderstanding. …hmm…want join? it comes out like a question but only because he isn’t confident that he’s got the right words. common tongue was hard for him if only because his exposure to it had been very, very limited at his birth home. there’d been no need to learn it, his mother had attempted to quell his studious and pleasing nature. your purpose in their lands does not require speech.

how wrong she was.

she was wrong about a lot of things, gojira would be the first to admit; skeptical.

lord fujimoto gojira. i am. he offers an introduction and a wag of his tail against his scarred hocks; proud of introducing himself without being prompted …though he was unable to remember the correct order of words. he peers at the pale boy that approaches, drawing up to the pack man’s side. gojira, for most intents and purposes: ever the gentle giant, offers a small smile in the hopes it makes his visage appear less grim. the ghastly scars that litter his body, the haunting empty eye socket does not offer him much to work with, admittedly.