Silver Moraine [m] i'll cut the soft pockets, let bleed

Tell me your name then, and where to find you if — if I need to.

Raimo. He only hesitated for half a beat of his pulse, but that was still something. It did not occur to Raimo that his new home might be unwelcoming to his dalliances, as he was not close to either of the women who ruled Sapphique; he did not care for them much and as a result, did not hold them in great esteem. Erzulie seemed the more manageable creature — if only because Raimo had spoken to her once or twice — but he did not know anyone among the coastal village well.

Regardless, that was where he would be.

I live on the coast, in a village called Sapphique. The wolves live upon a high cliff, It had a certain ring to it, a flow off the tongue, which Raimo enjoyed. He wasn't so invested in the place to hold much opinion over it at all beyond a storyteller's curiosity; though now that he had spoken the name of the place, he began to consider things differently there, too. His wandering would not have to cease, but his freedoms would be limited until he could know for sure if fatherhood was where his story led.

Even if he did not know this wolf nor hold warmth in his heart for the unknowable future they had possibly begun together, Raimo was not the kind to cut and run. He had pride in himself and the name that he carried — and that which his children would carry, he assumed — so he would be present for them, if they existed.

A thought came, then — What of you?