"vlarindarling" see what I did there? :D My cleverness is only outdone by my inability to form a decent sentence.

Under the oppressive weight of the snow, the slender, feeble willow branches hung low. Draped in white curtains, the Drooping Willows looked like a collection of small hills, or even igloos. Amused, Kiche walked between the snow huts, recalling the moving pictures he'd seen on the talking boxes at home. For once, he was unafraid, and his breath did not snag on his wonder and apprehension, either. He was simply himself, an inquisitive young creature who had once answered only to Fatman in the safety of a linoleum tiled kitchen. On a whim, he dove into one of the willow-houses, wiggling between snow and branch.

Only the light that floated through his crude, Kiche-sized door illuminated the black belly of the willow-house. It was empty, like a white walled, uninhabited dwelling. The matted, emaciated ginger brute was swept off his feet by a wave of nostalgia. This was the closest he had come to home in over a year. Standing here, in the half-light of the willow-dome, he could have almost imagined that he was really there. A warmth spread through him, and a well-forgotten smile crept on to his lips. "I've missed you."

With the hopes of sprucing up his newly claimed home, he decided that what it really need was better ambiance. The light that spilled through the door he had made would not be enough. His house was merely a dark, dank willow-cavern. What it needed was a window. Strolling over to the other side of his one room house, he japed his nose into the wall. Squirming, he shoved his neck through the hole. Day light –whose brightness he had forgotten—pierced his eyelids, and he opened them after several moments of hesitation.

Curiously, he peered out of his window, gazing at the all the uninhabited hovels around him. For all the world, he looked like a trophy mounted on the wall of a hunter’s den, hung up on the snowy wall made by the drooping branches. As he surveyed the neighbourhood, though, he noticed a dirty gray lump lying in the snow. Confusion and curiosity stirred in him. It was a wolf. Kiche was in such a good mood, though, that this realization did not strike him with its usual strength. For once, his voice was calm, “What are you doing, out there in the snow.”

He did not recognize the heathen.

someone besides Aisling finally gets to meet "The Nice Kiche" aka "Fatman"

The response was flat, dismissive, like she had hung a "Do Not Enter" sign on the end of her sentence, and it bugged him for some reason. Perhaps it was his just his new home, or perhaps it was the emotional change he had been going through, but he was, for the first time in his life, sensitive to the woes of others. There was nothing exceptionally perceptive about recognizing the depression in her voice, but Kiche felt as if he had stumbled upon some strange, naked creature. It was unsettling. He wanted to fix it, but he also wanted it to go away. He didn't want the half-dead wolf dying on his threshold, he didn't want it to be his problem. But these feelings were too familiar, they were old and stale. He wanted to explore this new world that had been reveal to him in the sad notes of her voice.

What would he say to the white heathen, though? Would he ask her what was wrong? For some reason, he felt as if he shouldn't. That was... tactless. Tact —that was new to him as well. In the end, he settled on a simple invitation, which he thought he extended to her rather gallantly, "You can come in here, if you want. It's my... new home. It's like an igloo. But, you probably don't know what an igloo is. A cave, then. It's like a cave. It'll shelter you from the wind. The door is on the other side." He made a sweeping gesture to the side with his head, still sticking through the wall of snow. Suddenly, though, he was aware of the implications of the state she was in. The matted, dirty fur, the starved, scarred face. "Better yet," he said breathlessly, "I'll help you in."

Swiftly, he retracted his head from the small, dislodging a bit of the wall. No matter, the window could stand to be bigger. Whirling around, he dove out the door of his house and bounded around to fetch the wretched house-guest. Not far from where she had fallen "to rest" he discovered the rotting carcass of ... some... creature, and his old demons stirred deep within. But if he recoiled, it was only for a moment, and then it passed. "Food." He whispered to himself, "It's food." He hung back, though, unsure of how to approach a wolf who had apparently collapsed in the snow. Should he carry her? He didn't know if he had the strength. "You can walk, right? Cause if you can't... well, things might get difficult." Of course, he had completely ignored the fact that she had not replied to his invitation.

oh noes. if this backfires, there will be serious psychological consequences xD NICE KICHE IS DETERMINED TO BE NICE. and is also a dunderhead :3

"Nonsense!" he chirped before she could even finish speaking or begin to get up, "I think you could use some shelter, and a..." His amber eyes slid sideways, and he stared warily at the decaying weasel, "And a good meal. Come on, don't worry about it." Although, in the back of his mind, Kiche worried about it, worried if perhaps he was biting off more than he could chew. He had only ever hunted once, and he gone half crazy and chewed through his own leg. However, that was in the past. He wanted — no, needed— to help this poor soul. Would God want that? Cautiously, he waved his tail in encouragement, waiting for the pallid female to get to her feet or announce her inability.

Somewhere in the depths of her soul she must have found enough willpower left to stand — although not much. Just as he began to move forward, to help her, to support her, her eyes bulged fretfully. There was fear written on her face, anxiety in her knocking knees that he couldn't possibly begin to understand. Staring back at her hollowed face, he thought he saw something familiar, he wondered if he knew her. But she was white, underneath all that dirt, grime, and sickness, and Kiche knew a good many white wolves... She was just white, that was all. In his good-Christian mood, he was unable to recall those ugly moments, all those ugly thoughts. He had wiped Vlar from his memory entirely. Before him stood a clean —or at least, mostly clean— slate, who looked like she had been through hell, and was about to go through it again. "Hey," he whined softly, trying to be soothing but not really knowing how to go about it, "It's okay. I'm here... And. Well, my home is just over there. Just a few paces, and then you'll be safe, I promise. You'll be okay." For some reason, he didn't feel like that was what the problem was, but it was all he had to offer.

He had not recognized Vlar when he had attacked her at the borders, all those months ago, and he did not even recognize the wolf he had attacked now. One wolf had some how been split up into three different, completely disconnected identities: The monster cult-member, the sick and decrepit loner, and now the destitute charity case. Maybe this had something to do with how confused the good-Samaritan was by her question. It sounded prying, insincere, as if she was fishing for some tiny detail. For some reason, it didn't feel as if she believed he was being "so kind" to her, but Kiche figured he shouldn't read too much into it.

Floating between euphoria and nostalgia, Kiche gave her his true name, the name that meant the most to him — a name only one other soul in all of Relic Lore knew. Maybe it was because he felt as if he was at home, where the name "Kiche" did not seem to belong. Kiche had been ruined by the tongues of devils, smeared with hatred and aggression and righteousness, and it was like wearing clothes he had long outgrown. "Fatman," he replied simply, with a kind smile on his face. He had never actually realized how ridiculous his nickname was. That had just been what his masters had called him, and Aisling had never laughed, after all —she thought it was brilliant. Figuring this would sooth her fretfulness, Kiche took another step forward. "So do you need any help? We'd best get you out of the wind."