Swiftcurrent Creek Winter is a cruel creature

Kieran wagged a quick sweep of his Mahogany tail, happy that she was doing well with his language. He probably would have told her, had she asked. After all there was no harm in missing ones language, and he wouldn't have told her of his family.

"Pure gran' Kaskara. Fhómhair, Autumn or Fall. 'owever yer wish ter say it. "

Kieran hadn't always been quiet, there had been a time. A time, when he was merry and happy, and his eyes danced and he laughed easily. He had even been selfish once, and it had cost him in the end. So secure in his own self worth, in his family's ties, in the fact that they had never been beaten. Even cocky one could say and look at him now, no one was left and he had killed the female he had loved without even lifting a paw.

"Tanks kaskara, but scon are in me weck as gran' as yer tink scon are. but oi appreciate de tart."