this is going to be really bad probably. haven't done any roleplaying in FOREVER.

He sank deeper and deeper into the welcoming, cold embrace of the snow with every step, unsure of what he was really doing any more. He had been torn completely in two by nature and God, and no longer knew where it was that he belonged. Civilization had called to him a number of times, and he had run towards it with a desperate hope of stumbling upon his home, but he never found it. Now the call was growing fainter, hushed by the richness of the wilderness that folded in all around him. A number of times now, he had tried to escape Relic Lore, only to find himself borne back to the savage country by forces beyond his understanding. Was it God that brought him back? He couldn't say, he had stopped answering those questions a long time ago. Whenever they resurfaced, he usually just shoved them aside.

Now, however, the forsaken wolf let the question float around in his mind and ricochet of the walls of his skull. Is there a reason for any of this? Kiche didn't want to have to come back to Relic Lore. He longed to leave everything behind, every leaf and tree and face that had belonged to friend or foe. Fear had cast him out the first time, and desperation to return to Aisling had called him back, yet he found himself on the outside looking in again. And now, although he longed to return to the familiar, he feared the few friends he had made most of all. He feared their snarls and sense of abandonment, their blame and their cold shoulders. These thoughts were accompanied by the undertones of habit and self-hatred. You dirty, dirty heathen. You're one of them. You miss them. How dare you. How dare you forsake Pangur and come crawling back... but not for your God, but for your HEATHENS. You disgusting, fallen creature.

"God damn it!" He shouted in an explosive burst of frustration that he could not contain. Kiche spun around, his jowls snapping wildly. His faded orange fur was missing in patches, and the skin sagged like curtain folds on his skeletal frame. What had once been an imposing, looming presence was diminished by the weight loss. All that remained was a thin, long shadow, a pathetic remnant of the creature he'd once been.

sorry about the wait, studying for finals and stuff.

Nothing could have prepared him for the black specter that manifested in front of him, flitting gracefully through the air and landing in the snow as if eerily weightless. Surprised, Kiche stumbled and reeled backwards, a snarl forming on his lips. No amount of nostaliga could have prepared him to actually see another heathen so soon. He balked, he retreated into the shelter of habit: aggression and blind, fear. All traces of the compassion and understanding he had developed for the savages were washed away by this unexpected shadow, who stared into his eyes. Immediately, a memory resurfaced. Eyes. They control you with their eyes. This devil-worshipper was using voodoo magic. Anxiety churned within his stomach, froze his limps, and he stood like a deer in the headlights. With all the motivation he had left, he screwed his eyes shut and growled, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, bitch."

Drowning in his fear, he abandoned himself — at least, the doubting, hopeful, and agnostic self he had come to be. All he knew was a single desire that consumed him: safety. Cowering and flailing in the dark waters behind his eyelids, he latched on to the first thing that seemed sturdy enough to support his weight in the rising, turbulent tempest: God. It was, after all, the only thing left to him. The waves began to subside. Pangur. Pangur will protect me. Kiche was suddenly and completely reclaimed by all of his old righteousness and ardor for God.

He didn't even think to open his eyes in order to properly respond to her question. As far as he was concerned, he had everything he needed to know. His answer was a simple snap of his jaws, "You're trying to steal my soul." As he spoke, walls were closing up, and memories were being erased. A happy, laughing white face loomed before his eyes, and was extinguished in a flash. His relapse was destructive, claiming every recollection of happiness or understanding he had worked for in the past year. Heathens, he prayed feverishly, Satanists. Oh, God, save me! Almost childishly, he added, "And you can't have it."

So completely absorbed in his own panic attack, he missed the word human. But somehow, as the word floated through the air, it managed to grab a hold of his attention before it was swept away and lost in an empty sea. Humans. Inside the confines of his skull, the word frolicked and romped, touching on old, happy memories of his childhood encased in the four walls of civilization. But the word was not alone. It was followed a question that left him dumbstruck. There was finally another wolf out here, out in the depths of hell and middle of nowhere who had been in the presence of humans. Finally there could be someone who really understood in him. In his excitement, his mind began building wonderful, beautiful thoughts of a brilliant future, and he never even thought to pay attention to the rest of what she said. When had Kiche ever paid attention to anyone besides himself. "Have you seen any?" he exclaimed, before she could even finish speaking. He bounced away a few paces and spanked the snow playfully, sending up flurries of white pinpricks. "Are there any near by?"

Hunting down a wolf. Killing the wolf. A strange rush of emotions overtook him, and he didn't know which he was supposed to feel. Instinctively, his mind grasped for whatever happened to be closer, the old thoughts, the old feelings. Wolf. He knew the word was the heathens own name for themselves. He had never thought of himself as a wolf. Righteous jubilee flooded him as she recounted her human-sighting in a horrified whisper. Killing a wolf. They were defending themselves. They were ridding the world of one more stupid, hedonistic, sinful brute. But... then came the wave of empathy, the new thoughts and beliefs. Killing. At first he couldn't make himself care, it felt like something that happened to someone else in some other time. He felt distant and detached. What did it matter? Killing wolves. Hadn't he been living with heathens for close to a year now? What if it had been someone he had known... like... Like Jayse... Heathens were evil, ugly, creatures... and killing was wrong... But the humans were his masters, they knew right from wrong. Didn't they? Suddenly he wasn't so sure. Unable to decide, he clung to the closest, most familiar thought: my masters would never have killed a wolf, they know that killing is wrong and sinful and all humans are good. This thing before him was, after all, just a heathen. The contradictory, illogical nature of this thought did not occur to him. Kiche was, at this moment, so confused that it was very possible that he could defend the heathens and condemn them all in the same breath without even realizing it. Besides, it wasn't like he knew this heathen. It would have been different, had it been someone like Aisling or Jayse.

"What do you mean you hope there isn't any of them near by? Are you crazy?" His confusion frustrated him, augmented his anger dangerously, bringing him to the brink of insanity. He took a step towards her, his towering frame looming over the smaller heathen, his tone was incredulous and angry. "I NEED TO GET HOME," he shouted in distress, directing his frustration at her although he was vaguely aware that she had nothing to do with it. Another step. "TELL ME WHERE THEY ARE, YOU DIRTY HEATHEN." His jaws snapped at her ear, missing intentionally.