There was certainty in him that her scar meant something. It had been made by tools, made with precision and with purpose. She didn’t seem to want to admit such a thing, and he found this interesting. Could she not sense it? There was so much in the world that the girl did not know. Yet Haku had picked her for something. Larkspur found this worth his time because he valued Haku as a similar soul, a kin mate, a brother of shadow and blood. He was not chosen by Tak, but something great had laid its hand across the chocolate wolf.
Clean. She knew nothing of the word. His eyes darkened. “To speak the language of the dead,” he answered honestly. Misery had branded him and opened his mind. Larkspur believed he was being reborn. How else could he talk in the language of god? “It’ll do y’wise,” he added, flicking one ear distractedly. “, t’clean yerself. Haku ain’t got many friends round these parts. Specially those coyotes up north.” This time, he smiled, tilting his head to eye her. She looked familiar. She might have looked like Misery if not for her build, or the doubt in her face.
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