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

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.