Haunted Wood what do we say to the god of death? not today

for @Astrid; tagging for reference; also i think i broke my own heart. ;-;

Roarke is lost. This is not a particularly new development as he’s been lost for some days now. If curiosity had killed the cat then …disillusions of the world outside of the Strath’s safety and innocence and confidence would be the winter’s bane undoing. He had ignored Arturo’s warnings: that the world outside of the Strath was an unwelcome and harsh world; or perhaps the tundrian thought that such things could not surely apply to him. He is tundrian! He is Fearghal! He has heard his father praise their resilience (though such a large word goes over the boy’s head) and admiring their strength in quiet moments when the coywolf thinks all his children are asleep. He is lucky to be alive. Childhood innocence and purity put Roarke’s faith and trust in a moonbeam silver colored stranger whom promised to take him back to the Strath when in fact the man escorted Roarke further from his home though his home resided only in the neighboring territory as he’d told the man, even gesturing in the direction of the Strath from the ravine that Roarke had wondered into.

The stranger kept him fed on their journey what meager meals he has managed to hunt …that is until the stranger disappeared. Roarke stays put in his shelter, pudgy body tucked into a hollowed log that is supple enough to accommodate him but sturdy enough to offer him protection from predators that would seek to kill him as The Stranger suggested. Roarke is smart, if not inexperienced and knows he is far from home. He has been a day without The Stranger (whom had promised swift return in gravelly voice that is neither comforting or familiar) and he has stayed in his shelter, heart aching for familiarity, to hear Eirlys’ heartbeat a soothing comfort to him as he nestles against his svelte twin to sleep. As night begins to settle over the lands, darkening the already dark forest there is no sign of The Stranger and Roarke falls into an uneasy sleep. He does not want to be afraid — he is a lion! He is Winter’s Bane! And lions were not afraid.

Yet, he cannot help but call out for @Lotte in his sleep. “Mama? Mama!” Because in his slumber his fear is not so easily disregarded nor does it offer him mercy from returning tenfold as he turns from it in waking hours, pretending as if it does not exist and that he cannot feel it to take it's retribution.

It was nothing new for the Speaker to wander, but where she was going was a mystery. She had not yet gone here, she notices after a small while, and it makes the night all the more ominous. Nyx loved it; the summer breeze, her soundless steps and the stars above her as a guide to find home. She had not wanted the night sky ruined for her, and so had not studied or asked about the constellations, but she had found some brighter stars that told her where she was most of the time. Nocturnal was on her side, and so was the darkness she blended in so nicely. When in the woods, with eyes half-closed, she is near to invisible. Even her white speckles camouflage her, for now she is just a sturdy yet small tree, gliding over the ground.

It was then that the panicked, muffled voice of a child reached her, perking her ears. Her nose twitched, finding the strange odour Aries carried with him as well - the one of pup. Her eyes were quick to search, her ears ready to pick up another scream to guide her, but silence fell over the woods once again. She relied on her nose now, but finding the log wasn't the hard part.

Hello? Do not be scared - I am a friend! She called out, lying or not.

Roarke is easily stirred awake by the sound of approaching footfalls. A gasp tears itself from his muzzle and he slinks deeper into the log, ears pinning against his skull as he realizes it is not The Stranger. There is no more trust left in Winter’s Bane — not for The Stranger and not for the woman whom calls out to him but at least The Stranger offers some familiarity that Roarke is desperate for. The tundrian acknowledges that his choices here are extremely limited. He will not survive without an adult, without a pack and it is clear that the mysterious stranger has no intentions of returning. The instinct to survive is far too prevalent and in this Roarke knows in his bones that there is no real choice. He must heed the call of the woman. He is a lion and he will not be afraid. He is Winter’s Bane and he will not be afraid. He draws in a uneven breath that trembles upon his lips and slowly army crawls to the mouth of the log, milky blue irises making their transition to glacial blue take in the shadow clad woman. He does not believe her and the longer fur of his developing mane bristle with unease and clear warning. He is a warrior and he will not be afraid.

“Who are you?” He demands of her as he steps out of his log and pushes himself to his full height. It is not an impressive sight. He still bears the pudge of infancy despite that he has entered his stage of rapid growth. It shows promise of what is to be: impressively sculpted musculature honed by pursuit of mercenary trade …but puberty has not yet come to pass. No doubt, she has heard him calling out for his mother but unaware he had done so at all Roarke aims to put on a show, to don a persona that is not him. Like his mother from her stories! The thought offers him a small sliver of comfort and a wave of courage to steel his nerve.

When the white head of the boy poked out, her eyes immediately sought his possible head wounds and her ears were ready to pick up sounds of a parent. Nothing came - only the youthful voice of the boy that not just asked, but demanded her name to be given. Her eyes opened further, revealing their differing hues and giving her away. They were the brightest things about her; especially with the white that trailed around her eyes ever so gracefully. She smiled, inching closer carefully to his proud yet wobbly, fatty baby body that showed quite some promise, even in the dark of the night.

I am Nyx - The Night. Where are your caretakers? She revealed, asking a question not long after. If the child truly was alone... perhaps Aries would get a friend to play with.

Her eyes are different colors — this is the first thing he notices about her, his attention instinctively drawn to them because of the white that outlines them, stark against the dark of her pelage. She approaches him and though Roarke wants to recede back into the presumed safety of the log, close his eyes and pray that he wakes up from this nightmare, Kahlil holds his ground and refuses to back down. She calls herself Nyx giving answer to his demand and adds the night as if it is a title. It is true she bears the appearance of the night sky unencumbered by cloud; night personified and given mortal flesh. He has seen none like her before and in this way he is almost enchanted by her but not quite. The Stranger’s lies and betrayal are too fresh in his mind and as his father before him winter’s bane is not a beast that so easily forgets (or forgives for that matter). “Gone.” The words are spoken without affliction, unflinching as they leave his lips in a partial truth. The Stranger is gone and his parents are far away but his instinct to protect them (and echo of Arturo’s words that Teaghlaigh is to remain hidden as much as possible during one of the boring patrols he was forced to partake in) will not allow him to place blind faith in Nyx. As he tries to twist himself from victim to something of a hero Kahlil spurns his own desires to go home …besides even if he told the truth he has lost all sense of direction and has forgotten already the way that The Stranger has brought him and with it went any hope of finding the Strath.

He is helpless. He is too young. Nyx is his only chance of survival and he knows this deep in the marrow of his bones and thus he is forced to put as much trust in her as he is willing to give.

How was she still surprised to hear some kid's parents have run off? Honestly, lost children are nearly easier to come by than a juicy fawn! Still, hearing the kid was all alone was enough for her to reach out her imaginable wings, ready to take him under if he was not keen on dying alone, here in the Haunted Woods. His fate lay in his own paws now - not in those of her nor Nocturnal nor the court of Blackfeather ravens. It was quite the overwhelming power a kid could have; she, perhaps, knew better than any of her siblings. Choosing what to become, knowing what to do and think as if acting in a way no one else had before. Perhaps Nemesis had even done her a favour by leaving her to fend for herself while her brother got seemingly smothered and showered in gifts. She smiled at the thought of Damien and her being in power now, anyway.

What is your name? She asks carefully in a tone she uses on Aries as well; sweet, trustworthy and calm. It was nothing like the bitter yet loving way she spoke to Damien with.

Though her tone betrays nothing to him: it is sweet and kind and encourages him to trust her, Kahlil does not. He cannot. He has learned rather quick what childhood innocence and blind trust gets him. He is hungry, scared and alone. The boy has learned a lesson in the hardest of ways that will shape the man he will become. He trusts her as much as he is willing to: enough to give her the benefit of the doubt that she will not seize his neck betwixt her jaws and crush the life from his throat. He holds still, but muscles tense to bolt like a easily spooked colt should he fear she means him harm. “Kahlil,” The lie tumbles easily from his lips; but he does not think of it as a lie. He thinks of it as assurance, as a mask that he must wear to protect and keep safe all that he loves. He thinks of Eiryls and his breath swells to catch in his throat. He aches for her presence. He feels her absence in a way that will never be relieved, he thinks. Part of his heart, his soul is missing but instincts as old as time itself keep him from lingering and wallowing in it. He must adapt. He must! He must survive. “I'm hungry.” Kahlil admits to her with begrudging reluctance though she has not asked. He has not eaten in a whole day and his stomach grumbles in protest and he though his fate balances on uncertainty he thinks it will not hurt to clue her in on the fact that it has been many hours since he has eaten anything.

Kahlil, he answers, and the name sounds rather foreign to the Nyx who speak a very foreign language as well. Still, it was a name that rather soothed her expectations - one that fit well beneath that of hers and Damien's. Should she take him? Surely Damien wouldn't mind; the more men they had, the stronger they were. The challenge was getting the kid to go with her, but seeing that he was hungry and alone perhaps that would be easy as well.

Then let me hunt for you - but not here. Come with me, I will bring you to my home where I can leave you in the safety of my woods. She suggested, knowing that the dangers of being alone were more than Kahlil could handle. She knew loneliness, she knew how helpless it made one feel, and she was not about to leave him to fend for himself.

Skepticism might ring true and for good reason within the lost boy but it is obvious that Nyx, at least, does not intend to snuff out his life. He is assured of this fact, at least, because she’d had plenty of chances. It does not get any more perfect than their current situation for murder: he is alone and vulnerable and though not without some training he is still smol and easily overpowered by an adult. She is offering to hunt for him but under the condition that he allow her to take him to her home where she gives assurances that he will be safe. The Stranger had promised to take him home and in the bowels of the Ravine the lost boy had not been far from Teaghlaigh. This betrayal of childish trust is still fresh within his mind but the lost boy steels his shoulders. “Ok.” He agrees because he is without choice. He cannot yet hunt for himself and he is utterly dependent upon an adult and with The Stranger’s disappearance and Nyx’s appearance he acquiesces to where fate intends to lead him.

Perhaps Damien did not share her passion for the innocence of youth, but she had acted alone numerous times now. She was as much his queen as he was her king, and together they would make sure that the numbers of their woods kept growing. Strong souls - fighters with twisted sides and a respect for their religion. She had not told Neo of their tenets yet, but he did know about Nocturnal and the many Deadric Princes - even the realms had been explained to him. She wanted to inform Kahlil of this as much as any, but before she did that she decided a meal for the boy would fall much better. She smiled as he agreed, probably with no other option left, and she turned to face where she knew was the edge of the woods.

Follow me - one never knows what lurks in the nights of Nocturnal. She cooed, beginning a slow pace forward to make sure Kahlil could keep up.

i hope it's ok that i took the liberty of wrapping up this thread & concluded with my post. ♥

On this, Kahlil sees no motive norway to fight. He has come to accept the fact that, despite how much he wishes it were not true he needs her. He is far too young to survive on his own and whether he likes it or not (he does not like it, in case it was ever in doubt) he would be lucky to live past a week alone. It is the unfortunate circumstance of being little more than three months of age and furthermore consequence to his errant error that has seen him far from the safety of the Strath with the presented knowledge that he may very well never see his Family again. That if he wants to keep them safe: he cannot. He has broken his father’s rules and thus by law of Teaghlaigh he is to be banished anyway. Kahlil does not speak to Nyx but he needs little more encouragement than her words to follow her back to her home (his new home) …a place, in the near future, he would come to learn as Blackfeather Woods.