Black Morass if it's the last thing I ever do

It was a rarity these days to hear his name spoken before he'd had the chance to give it away. Turmeric turned around with visible confusion slapped across his face.

"Huh?" in some sense, he recognized her. A familiarity about her eyes. She was of the Saints; this he recognized, and this he reasoned on an intuitive level.

But for names? He'd known many white wolves in the Saints but none so scarred as she. And he, well, apart from height, Turmeric didn't think he'd really changed. So his name came much easier to her lips than her name came to his. With eyes narrowed and head pushed forward in that kind of searching look, he decided he'd try.

"Ssssssimmik?" he swung a guess, with clear uncertainty. He remembered her most of those who weren't his family, because in essence, she had kind of been.