Yes, Still Alive is stuck in my head. Happy Rapture!

Basically, he was killing time. Thoughts of the puppies consumed him, and he longed to get near them, to see them. But he had to wait what would probably be several more weeks, and even then, there was still the matter of Jaysyek. He would need to work on her, find some sort of crack in her defenses and squirm back into her good graces. Overall, he was unsure of how doable that was. He didn't know Jaysyek well enough to gauge how deep this grudge ran. Kiche could be damn persuasive and cuddly if it pleased him, though, and he decided he'd put his hopes in that.

Still, it was clear it would be a long wait, and he was desperately impatient. Often he found himself pacing about in the den, pacing about in the woods, circling around the ancient tree den which he knew housed the puppies. He now felt as if he were just a sum of the steps he had walked, how much distance he had covered. He could not go far, though. Constant vigilance was necessary. He needed to be within cult boundaries, in case something happened. What if that raving mange-bag came back? What if the puppies opened their eyes and asked for him? What if they asked about Pangur? He would need to be nearby, just in case. Oh, he was so on edge as he prowled through the darkness. On edge, sure — but not hyper-alert. Splash.His left leg plunged into the shallows of the stream, and he snarled, jumping back.

A sharp crack, a break in the air that shattered any semblance of serenity, echoed in the splintered darkness of the night. Kiche's head swung sharply to his right, to the source of the sound, and he sunk into a defensive, low stance. There was something out there. His mind began to make connections out of facts that didn't exist, fabricated realities his mind produced to fill in the vague patches. He began to jump to conclusions. A monster. The devil was out there, and he had come to claim his soul. He would be snatched up and fed to the hellions in the fiery depths of Hell. Flighty and agitated, Kiche's eyes flicked about in the darkness, trying to catch sight of his tormented.

Long fingers of slanted moonbeams illuminated the forest, reaching their stretching, milky arms through the tree tops to paint a silver wash over the scenery. And one particular slender limp fell upon the silhouette of a stranger, who merely stood there. Underneath it's foot, Kiche could just make out the shadow of a cracked twig. Eyes narrowing, Kiche called out, "Identify yourself. None of this shady sneaking about, heathen! None this funny business."

The counter was a well aimed javelin, and Kiche prickled visibly. Heathen? He, most certainly, of all the damned souls out here, was the closest to salvation, the farthest away from damnation. While the damn thing extended an offering of salvation, Kiche was skeptical. He spoke like a snake oil salesman, promising something impossible in a tiny vial filled with colored water. "You speak so confidently, comrade for someone so sorrily mistaken. I am no heathen, I am a follower of God, and only he will lead me to salvation." Did this... (heathen? wolf? God-lover?)... fellow really think he could offer salvation?

Perhaps he misspoke. The talk of a journey intrigued Kiche, as he too was on a journey, a journey to salvation and heaven and holiness. Was this wolf a fellow brother following the unmistakably beaten path to goodness? Kiche suddenly wondered if he was being too brash, too quick to leap to the offensive, too quick to leap to anything. Sighing, he fell back to his haunches, watching the creature as it stepped into the light. He took a moment to scrutinize this apparent brother that had manifested before him. He looked for all the world like a commonplace, unexceptional mixture of earth and white tones, like any other wolf... He sighed again, "I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. You... you must understand what it's like, when you live out here with other heathens. But... Tell me more of this journey you are one. I too am on a journey." There was an expectant orange gleam that played in his eyes, reflecting in the flashes of moonlight.

editing to end this since Adalae said she lost the muse for Al.
"Pride is a sin, brother. You would do well to forget it and repent," he replied levelly, though his eyes were narrowed. Although he wanted to sing with happiness at the joy of finding another man of God here in the depths of hell, he found himself restrained. This man was not an angel or a saint, like Aisling. This man was a sinner. How cruel, it seemed, that the only other pious soul for miles around would be nothing more than a common sinner, who could speak of God and destiny, but in the same tongue speak such hellish things. Oh, how he longed to embrace and kiss this stranger, though, who spoke of salvation and Pangur. But he did not. Instead, he only watched as he felt his brother's eyes examine the length of his body. What did he see there? Could he see the light in him, could he feel it?

But this stranger had spoken of his journey, had expanded on it, if only briefly. He too wished to bring salvation to others. In a silence response, something inside Kiche flickered and danced with desire and joy. And making it stop. While he did not explain this, Kiche felt that he understood in his own way. His own mind supplied a true name for the pronoun: the Devil. Didn't they all want to make it stop? His smile curled with a softness that spoke of his understanding, his willingness to help, but... suddenly it was as if the light flickered and things looked different. Things looked very strange indeed, much darker. In reality, it was merely a cloud passing over the moon, darkening the forest. But to Kiche, everything seemed so much stranger, more malicious. And he realized he shouldn't trust this stranger. He was not very good at following Pangur. He was a sinner.... Why did Kiche trust him? He shouldn't. Kiche couldn't trust anyone, and he knew that, and he had told himself that time and time again. Why had he faltered just now?

Devil magic. Of course. Without answering, Kiche snarled, deciding that he could not believe this heathen and his cryptic responses. He was probably just a liar, just another heathen. Before the situation could escalate, though, Kiche dashed away into the soft sable night.