Barrow Fields marked graves

son, the dreadfather croons in a low, smoky rumble of greeting. as close to affection as he was ( presently ) willing to show; letting the boy come to him with his wild, coyote like yipping. it echoes among the mounds and it makes the fur at ingram's nape prickle with a shuddering slither of pride.

seaglass gaze takes note of the skull carried by his son — pelagius, as ash paw had called him — and pride tips the voidwalker's chin up. pelaguis, croons the dreadfather, then. you have returned to me? a question offered disguised as a statement.