Blackfeather Woods chaos is a ladder

She was not unknown to her children's psychedelic problems. Each one was just a bit off, just the slightest misaligned within their own minds, troubled as it were. However, it did not bother her in the slightest. In Abaraxas' stoic nature was an impenetrable force behind the very few words he spoke. In Atshen, she seen something quite dangerous, untameable even, however in the hands of the Brotherhood would do them better than good. She never did make any movements to calm the boy in his fits of rage, only when his own anger posed a threat to his own well being did she intervene, and as he mimicked a word she no doubt had let slip once or twice before, she sat back intent with curiosity. What a weapon he would become to be, if he did not destroy himself before that ever became a possibility.

Stepping through the clearing, the woman stepped behind her child to nose the back of his neck; affectionate of her eldest born. When she hoped the bird had become of less interest to the boy, she took it in her mouth and flung it beyond their vision; turning to lick the blood splatters from the child with ease and no question to his actions. By now, the Spiderlings had to know that there was little they could do to upset their mother, but to disappoint was worse a punishment than familial exile. Atshen's behavior was one he knew she tolerated and did not question, in fact, perhaps even ignorant to the qualities of the boy that would usual frighten the average wolf to the thoughts of later life with the eldest born. Or perhaps, she did not question his savage tendencies for the very fact it had originated within her; what ever the case, Nemesis hummed as she cleansed the boy of the result of his own personality, taking the time she needed to calm him down. “Now, where did you learn that word, hm?” The mother inquired, her voice serene in contrast to the boy below.