Helotes nodded and opened the storage area and retrieved a small bandage. The wound really didn’t need one, but he’d rather be safe than sorry; he couldn’t risk any kind of infection while he was actively training. He closed the storage area behind him just in time to notice the kitten was no longer on Enkiel’s lap but now was at his feet. He wasn’t sure how to react, Zana’s cat hadn’t cared for him much, but this one was curious. He pulled up a small stool and sat upon it, reaching a large paw out to the kitten who sniffed at him.
He was silent for a moment, turning his attention to the Imperium, who was inking something. The writing was in a different language, Arabic; Helotes was surprised he remembered that. His mother had told him about all the cultures she had knowledge of; German, Spanish, Irish, French, oriental and middle-eastern. He had been lucky to have such a well-versed mother; he missed her dearly. So, what part of Arabia do you hail from? Helotes asked, trying to strike up a conversation.
He had been meaning to talk with Enkiel, learn more about him, since the night he had patched Zana up. He was a very mysterious man, and exotic, his heritage boasting of not only coyote but jackal. His accent was also hard to miss, and Helotes wondered if he had emigrated from across the ocean or if he had lived in the Americas all his life. Enkiel however was a quiet man, a man of few words, but a gentle man as far as Helotes could tell. And they were related, and with every new and interesting Lykoi Helotes met, the more curious he became about his own family. Their blood line was vast and strong, and he was proud
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