Kindred spirits

Kaneonuskatew · 05-12-2021, 09:17 PM

Despite the little amount of detail he was putting into his answers, Tamsyn seemed as curious about him as ever, raising her left brow and never taking her eyes off of him for a moment. Did the Hallows not get very many visitors being this far south, or was it because she was him as some kind of hero for saving her daughter? Whatever the reason, Kane was glad to have her company. It kept him from being miserable at being bedridden while he healed, and judging by the severity of his shoulder wound at the very least, he would be healing for a while. The dire brute made a mental note to be sure to give back to the pack that had provided so much hospitality for him once he regained the ability to stand on his own four feet. Her quip about keeping him up all night now garnered a rough laugh as the brute situated himself to lie more comfortably while facing Tamsyn while she occupied a medical cot beside his.

He hung his big paws off the edge of the cot, watching her with intrigue in swirled hazel eyes while she detailed where she came from, a mountainous region far from here, to a pack of misogynists. A frown tugged at his lips while he considered what a terrible life that must have made for her, but she didn't elaborate, and he didn't press further. There was pain in those memories; he could see it in her eyes. He followed her story to her arrival in Boreas, to joining a pack called the Armada and becoming a fighter for them. They did sound like a formidable force—or maybe that they were trying a little too hard to sound intimidating. He cocked a wry smirk at the notion of someone compensating for something by naming their pack "the Armada". "Well, if the way you've raised your daughter is any sign, I'd say motherhood suits you," he remarked. "How many children do you have? I think Gwynevere mentioned a brother...?" He didn't think he'd met any of her other children yet, but he had also been pretty doped up on painkillers and in and out of consciousness so he couldn't exactly remember very clearly.

Kane followed her gesture to his shoulder, flashing his teeth in a spirited smile, showing every canine and his larger sabers with pride and mirth. "I don't know about being excited for the wound. More excited to be alive," he said, correcting her assumption gently. "In my culture, scars are trophies. We gain them during hunts, during fights, throughout our lives, collected like artwork of our adventures upon our bodies. Each one is a memento of a time Death could have claimed us, yet we won out in the end, either by our strength, our fortitude, or our wits." His eager expression dialing back a bit, Kane continued to speak softer now, husky voice warm and rich like an aged bourbon. "Our scars tell of our stories, our triumphs, our losses. They are beautiful and unique, and something to be celebrated and respected, not hidden or shamed by."

His hazel eyes flickered between her foreleg and her face, the unasked question lingering in his gaze. He would not press her to tell him anything she was uncomfortable with, especially since they were both strangers still. Scars could carry painful memories with them, and he knew many carried a stigma around them to keep them concealed, not revered. In time, if she wished to tell him, she could—if he was still lingering around by then. He hadn't forgotten about his quarry hiding somewhere out beyond the castle walls.

"Kane"

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Kindred spirits

Kane

Kaneonuskatew