There was something dark that had grown within Larkspur. He believed it to be the earth demon-god Tak, but his perception of the world was still small. He was narrow minded and simple. Lark recognized power and domination and believed the only way that one would be a leader was through strength. Conor had not impressed this on him as his father had. Orange eyes narrowed to slits, burning against his dark face. He heard the voice, but it did not speak of reason—it spoke of a challenge.
His whiskers curled up towards his face as his lips pulled away from the yellowing teeth that lined his gums. “Yer here,” he said, unable to hide the distaste in his voice. “So I take it y’finally decided I’m worth yer time.” There was a moment of pause where his ears twitched wildly, listening to that other voice, and his pupils dilated to the point they threatened to consume the color in his eyes entirely. “Yer weak. Yer lettin’ weakness thrive here. If the coyotes came back ain’t no one gonna make it out alive.” This he believed. This the can tah echoed, building itself up from the doubt that had been growing in Larkspur since the last time he had spoken to Haku.
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