You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

Wylan tilted his head and listened as Absinth spoke, trying to understand what it was she spoke of. The truth was, he simply had nothing to pull understanding from. Nothing to compare, no way to truly comprehend what loss was. He’d seen fright, when he’d gotten himself into a bad situation, and his father had charged in, sides heaving, nostrils flaring, to save him. He knew what fright looked like, subjectively. He had never really felt it himself. He’d felt adrenaline, and the rush of it. He only had one example, and so he readily chose to share it. “Like how my dad and his siblings feel when they talk about Grandmother's death?” He volunteered, his voice pitching at the end, turning it into a question.

Wylan was raised by gentle parents, in a pack surrounded by strength. Hunger, fear, survival. They were vague concepts to him. “The blade vibrates?” He asked, his voice quiet, because he wasn’t sure of the answer. His Uncle had spoken about him getting his own blade. Lefty had even mentioned them working on one together. But he hadn’t seen one forged in person yet.


"Wylan Fatalis"