Ouroboros Spine my father bleeds history

Viggo's statement was met with a sideways glance that affirmed that. It was quite a reunion, though not any that Mordecai would have expected. In all his travels, he had never encountered such an influx of likely family. Verrine had been one for starters, but he had never anticipated Viggo. It made as little surprise to him though, as they had all been prone to wandering off in their own time and right. Try as much as he could have, Leviathan had never quite mastered at keeping the fraying ends of his family close.

But the names that Ptarmigan gave rang familiar. Green most of all of them, but just as she had, he also had never met them. The details had been lost to him as well, and also to those who held them. All that remained now were names and the sordid history behind them that were best told as stories. He did however note her implication and smiled softly. “As were my own,” he said, with his own implication that it hardly mattered. The trio all came from good pedigree, at least in his eyes.

“Viggo is my brother's son, though we were raised together. Where did your family settle after they left their home?” Her statements aside, he was still very curious of what had become of the Endores. They had obviously prospered, but he knew of what had happened to the Salvajes. In his travels he had hoped to find it, but had never found the direct route there. He had missed it, knowingly by many miles and unroutable terrain. But word had reached them all one way or another, if not from the mouth of Verrine or Syntax, then others that had come following in the stead of Leviathan.

But he hoped Ptarmigan would recognize the vague reference he made, all the same.