They were both scarred—she had begun marking him as they made their way to Souls. His arms bore white letters that spoke of Tak and the white. She had not explained fully what would be put on his skin, but he trusted her judgment and trusted the pain that came with it. Each cut was one step closer to salvation, something that he sought desperately. If his path meant he would be her tool, be her dog, he would do so. No living creature deserved more then she did.
He had been spoken of; he had been chosen. This very fact made his eyes twinkle, the sensation of ego foreign and unwelcomed. Larkspur felt important, as if the voices she heard might validate his existence. For him, they did. That soft voice, as familiar to him as the can tah’s, reassured him of his place in the world. At her side; charging into battle for her if she so asked. “I have found one,” his voice rose, nearly frantic to tell her of his accomplishments. “A girl, who lives in this pack. She said there’s another, a woman named Naniko, and that she has children. I haven’t been able to find her yet,” he admitted sourly.
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