Permafrost Hollows now i know what’s real what’s fake

He smiles when Phillip answers this time, a strange, rare, genuine expression on the wraith. Wherever you go, I'll follow. The words warm him, and he presses into the other boy again, preening his neck fur. Good, He murmurs into his neck, reluctant when he manages to pull himself away again to speak. I want to find somewhere we can make a home of our own, before spring when everyone starts being weird and spawning hoards of kids. Maybe if we find other people, we could make a pack — but I don't care if it's just us. And along the way, I'll search for Kratos. But he leaves that part unspoken, too afraid to voice his hopes this time. He'd never found Helios; why should Kratos be any different? His expression turns distant as he loses himself in thought, silver eyes unfocused now. His whole future is ahead of him, and he doesn't know what he wants, or where the intersection between reality and his desires lays; he doesn't know what it's safe to want. It makes him want to rip his skin off.