Whitebark Stream i'm sayin' goodbye, mom

Whatever spell he's under is broken by the response he receives; a bristling, angry response, an unpleasant shock to his overloaded system. He steps back once, then twice, tail rising as his posture finally stiffens to match the mood he projects. No one, He snaps back. A ghost. Then he turns to leave, shame already carving its way through his chest with a white-hot knife. He doesn't know if he can stand to look at the stranger another moment longer — not when he can't seem to control himself or his memories of Kratos, no matter how hard he tries.