Blacktail Deer Plateau now I know the boy gettin' restless

He is silent, and supportive. A steady presence against Ingram's shoulder. When the man pushed harder into him, Baudelaire returned the pressure. Prepared to help him however he may.

For the whole processed perplexed him, but he had never seen someone so serious. This was far beyond any brushes with religion he had had before now.

Yet there is more. Something captivated and enchanted him in a dark twirl, as if the atmosphere of it all could cloak them.

Wocha, He echoed with a soft, budding awe when Ingram had spoken his piece. Greatness. Bonds. Chieftain! He tested it against his tongue once more in a heavy whisper between them.

Baudelaire had not expected to be so immediately thrusted into the beliefs of Ingram. Nor to be so suddenly enthralled with them.

And if I wanted to walk this path, to be known as Wocha...?

He felt lost. Adrift in his own mesmerization.

For a moment his pale gold gaze looked to the covered bones. His own hunger for them began.