Noctisardor Bypass You talk like a man and taste like the sun

for a while there is only quiet and then it is broken by the sound of well-placed footfalls — absent the awkward and stumbling steps of him or his sister(s) — that tell him it's another adult. but beyond that she is an unknown. worripa's heart thrums rapidly in his chest ...though if it is with waning confidence or excitement he cannot place.

he is only comfortable with the feelings of general hermitness, anger and abandonment as to which he copes with in the only way he, as a child, knows how: by throwing tantrums.

in their rarity, these other feelings are almost foreign. they carry with them some nostalgia but mostly they are like discovering something new.

ow, a small hiss of pain under his breath as he shifts in the cover of the bramble bush, wincing as one of its small twigs pokes him. he shifts, crunching twigs and leaves under his weight as the she-wolf speaks.

bogeywolf?

having never heard of such a thing before and thus not knowing it is likely from some story designed to scare him, worripa ( dumbly ) assumes it is her name; and because it sounds funny; he snorts with a childish giggle; the leave rustling with the tremors of his body. the giggles bubble in a strange euphoria that he hasn't felt since his mother's disappearance and he bursts out of his hiding place abruptly, without consideration that there may be danger.

he is in rivenwood ( he thinks ) and thus he is safe ( he assumes ).

worripa is a disheveled mess, with bits of leaves and twigs caught in his fur but he pays it no mind. dat name funny. he declares in broken puppy speak, still a bit away from mastering the common tongue.