every artist is a cannibal every poet is a thief

[Arkham Lykoi]

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He might have remembered Gabriel telling him that his father was dangerous if he tried, but even if he did, no one had ever explained exactly why and he was a skeptic for all new information that couldn't be shown. Some things didn't have answers, he knew, but most things did, and this was certainly one of them. If someone was to be deemed dangerous, there had to be a reason. An easy conclusion would be that his father had done something so horrible that the adults would not yet deem it appropriate for him to know, but there was also Rachias's undying certainty of the goodness of their sire and her enthusiasum was hard to throw off, even if he knew now that it had been wrong before.



And what if his father really was a bad person? It would be a numbing fact, but he didn't really know him, right? It was hard to him to think that he would miss someone he had never known or feel bad for being the child of a parent who had commited horrible crimes; they were too abstract of concepts and he wouldn't be able to fathom them until he finally did find out for himself. D'y'know his name? The grey wolf's simple words were a strange comfort even though Arkham thought it strange that anyone should refer to his mother as simply "an Inferni female." She was the queen, or had been, but he figured that that Tsunami just didn't know any better.



Large grey ears perked again at the mention of Storm, Storm? D'y'know a lady named Phasmar? A son, also gone. He disliked how it was such a vague word. He hardly knew what it meant, no matter what context it was used in. Why'd he leave? Where'd he go? And fish? No. I d'no how t'fish. Zit hard?

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