<blockquote><ul><span style='font-size:7pt;line-height:100%'>OH LOL. I cannot find the words to express how hard I laughed when I saw you posted, Chels. xD This will be so much fun.</li></ul></span>
After having spent a year wandering and grieving in this vast realm, it was startling how little he knew of wolf culture. <i>Wolf</i>. Even their own name for themselves sounded <i>strange</i> to him, although he was not unaccustomed to hearing it —more often than not, he ignored it. Still, after all this time the saint never stumbled across another pack. Most of his acquaintances were other wolves from the Hollow or loners. Sure, he might have encountered a handful of wolves from other packs, but he had been so convinced that his life was at stake that he had never dared to ask where they were from, let alone <i>smell them.</i> He didn't know of Swift River, and he hadn't heard of Midnight Plateau when it had still been around. Thus a year had passed, and Kiche was discovering just how little he really knew about this place that the... <i>wolves</i> called Relic Lore.
So when the rank-smelling male said the word <i>pack-scent</i>, Kiche blinked stupidly, surprised. Kiche had just learned the word <i>pack</i> recently, from that foreigner who had tried to teach him to hunt. Pack was another word for cult —the <i>heathen</i> word for cult. That there was another cult living near by caught him off guard, and at first he didn't understand. The red and dun male sat with a slack jaw, staring at this stranger from... another pack, unable to grasp the ramifications of any of this. Even if the saint lived in the Hollow, he had no <i>real</i> understanding of what it meant to belong to a pack. The golden heathen came closer, and Kiche watched him warily, drawing his bottle-brush tail over his paws. <i>Copper Rock Creek —what a weird name</i>. There was no Creek that he could see.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, however, another voice filled the gap with a different name, not his name. As edgy as he'd always been, Kiche suddenly leaped to his feet, taking several steps back, his head whipping towards the newcomer. Before he could correct her, though, a recognition sprang out of the depths of his memory. It was an old memory and it came with old feelings. She was dirty, she was a devil-worshipper, she had tried to cast <i>spells</i> on him, and had refused to stop until he had provided her with a name. But she hadn't stopped. Fear flashed in his firebrand eyes as the red saint gawked at this <i>savage</i>, unsure what to do. That moment of hesitation kept him tethered to reality, however. His fear didn't have the chance to run away with him —not this time. In that moment there was the awe of recognition that ripped him apart inside as he swayed back and forth between confusion and realization.
This black barbarian that he had met before, she did not seem to match up with the reality he was building around him. She was just a ghost that had haunted someone he had once been... but did she haunt him now? None of the heathens he had met —<i>really</i> met— had ever... actually {i}practiced{i} devil magic. Perhaps.... Shaking his head as if his unwanted thoughts were like a plague of bees, Kiche struggled to come to grips with a reality that made more sense than the two realities that he straddled now. All he had to offer was a shrug. "<b>Yeah,</b>" he said softly, gazing at the strange, dark wolf, "<b>I guess I am.</b>" Why, what did it matter if she thought his name was Sebastian? Everyone else called him Kiche when his real name was Fatman, and he considered this to be more or less the same thing. "<b>You're not... </b>" Suddenly he dropped his eyes to the ground, afraid to feel the uncomfortable prickle that crept up the nape of his neck whenever he made eye contact, "<b>You don't... do voodoo in... this Copper Rock Creek... do you?</b>" Skeptical eyes darted towards Kanosak, whom he didn't know... and could be very capable of voodoo for all he knew.
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