Ravensblood Forest daddy's getting hot [ part i ]

they do not agree with the statement of 'dreadfather' being dreary. it fits them perfectly, as far as they are concerned. there were worse things to call oneself ...but they digressed with a soft breath.

it will always suit me, they speak, salmon pink tongue drawling across their scarred lips. i will always be the dreadfather, whether i am on my islands or not. that part could not — would not! — be carved from their being. it is a holy rot that sinks too deep: into their soul tethers, into the marrow of their bones.

for now, perhaps, it is safer to practice in quiet, in secret, even...if they must. i will offer them my skills as a warrior until i feel more comfortable. though they are far from ashamed they know that they do not yet have a strong hold within this pack and they do not feel confident enough ( yet ) to push the limits.

in time, no doubt.

walk my patrol with me? it is an open invitation, emphasized by a small gesture of their muzzle, though they will not take it personally if she declines.