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every artist is a cannibal every poet is a thief
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cradle me in your crooked heart
Just another broken family. Dime a dozen these days. The state of the world, of this part of the world -- it made the gray wolf wonder sometimes why he kept coming back. He had answered that question so many times in his head that it felt like a broken record now. He came back because he belonged, and he had never really belonged anywhere. Sometimes he didn't even belong within the confines of his own mind. It was possible the kid's mother was dead. Tsunami had always known the truth. Rain had always been up-front about it. She had been a good woman.
Besides his typical concern for the whole of wolfkind -- especially the defenseless, the adorable, the puppies -- there was probably another reason altogether why Tsunami had asked of Arkham's father. The answer already lurked in the back of his mind. Here, sitting before him, was a hybrid puppy with red eyes that the gray wolf felt he'd looked into so many times in the past. He wasn't facing it because he didn't want to believe it. Everything the kid said about his father just further cemented the fact. Holy fuck. aren't you just a fucking genius, sunshine? Mischa was laughing. Tsunami smiled. Still outwardly calm. Vaguely, somewhere, he wondered why this coyote-raised child didn't hate the wolves. Nirupama Tsunami was very much a wolf, body and mind and culture, and a large one at that. probably 'cause his daddy's in clouded tears, baby boy. Laughter.
Arkham Lykoi. He knew that surname. Really, this kid was pretty cute.
I'm Nirupama Tsunami. It's nice to meet you, Arkham Lykoi. If you don't mind me asking a personal question, do you know if your dad's from Clouded Tears? He wanted to listen. Half for himself, half for the hybrid-child, who seemed to have no family left but siblings, and the one eyed-wolf knew well how that felt.
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