Kjors offered a one-shouldered shrug. He’d always thought ‘Mother’ to be more of a title than a name, but he supposed the younger wolf wasn’t wrong in her observation. If She had a different name, it’d been lost when his father was murdered. “Yer naw,” he affirmed. “Think plen’y notice. Naw all of ‘em care, mind.” He grunted at the thought, brow furrowing. Some didn’t understand what they were observing, like Nova here, but he got the notion she’d never acted destructive purposefully. There were those wolves that did, simply out of greed or general disregard. One didn’t need to know the All-Mother to understand that was wrong.
At her admiration, Kjors only shrugged again. He huffed. Praised was a foreign concept to the grizzled male. “Naw. Jes’ raised in a pack tha’ respected Her properly. Ain’t seen much a’ tha’ in these parts, t’ be honest. Lived south a’ here. Mountains.” Not too far from a shore, for he’d made it to cold, rocky cliffs before traveling northward and inland, eventually finding a home in the Ruins of the Wildwood. “Ah’ve a priestess. ‘Er. Prophet. Th’ Mother will talk t’ her in dreams bu’ – She talks t’ all a’ us, y’know. Th’ little things. Th’ weather, a hunt, somethin’ tha’ seems like fortune ain’t, naw really. It’s Her. Jes’ cos She don’t tell us clearly Her will doesn’ mean She ain’t communicatin’.”
It was getting a little out of his comfort zone. The wolf could only hope he was communicating properly. He glanced towards the sky briefly. “Ah – can teach y’more, y’know. If y’like. Ah was taught th’ Lore and th’ Way.” He paused, clearly struggling with how to phrase what he was to say next. “Bu’ – mos’ packs don’ follow th’ Way, so. Might mean leavin’ where yer at, if yer gonna live proper.”