Neverwinter Forest blowin’ off my mom, i don’t wanna go home

Tall order she asks for, since Kratos has never been anywhere without psychos around; Neverwinter isn’t any different no matter how much they like to pretend they’re safe. Too many of theirs—of his—already got injured or nearly left for dead. Kratos grunts, a chuckle building in his throat until it quiets a few beats later at the mother’s continuation.
Pale gold eyes drop to the kid. The kid’s got a decent parent, seeing as she’s willing to die in order to protect. Kratos never really knew his own; the only memory fuzzy—the scent of honeysuckle and fiery red fur too much like his own. She gave him away to save her own hide.
So you want us to clean up your mess, he says. Not everyone’s a parent here. Not everyone’s willing to die to save the kid hidden behind that paw. The Boss is the one who makes the final decision. Kratos answers with a shrug. His lips part to speak, but the words never come out.
He knows that scent of frost and stone, and he knows the sound of those footsteps and that voice. Tension too tight in Zephyr’s muscles finally gets the beast on edge. His tail snaps, waving to the side too sharp akin to an agitated feline.