Whitefish River into your heart, into your soul

Exousia listened with all the focus of a wolf whose mother-language was not the common tongue. There were terms she recognized individually but not together (nightwife, dreadfather, voidwraiths), and though her brow crinkled, trying to understand, their combinations and implications were not entirely lost on her.

She made a humored sort of snort as he finished with a statement that recognized how ridiculous he sounded to those not already indoctrinated in such faiths, but she did not appear to be laughing at him. To her, there was nothing inherently wrong with anything he said.

You are in leagues with shadows. They are powerful things, Exousia conceded. But we wolves are all gods. That is what I believe. She chose not to elaborate, not without being asked. What has the void given you that cannot be achieved through other means? Do you only follow for the one you call… night-wife? The words come out more separated than she intended, working on the foreignness of it.