ilter was uncertain of everything. Death’s purpose for him, why his Angel had chosen to save him, who he was, or where his family had lingered off to. The little lupine boy had just begun to unravel what life truly had to offer. He had only ever had his wolves, the magical things of the Valley that had become his family, and the lone stallion who watched him, Ruan.. And now, now he had Death looming over him, and an Angel by his side. He knew nothing of the magic running through his blood; his ability to move things with his mind. He knew nothing of his father;a chaotic magician who cared for little but himself. And he knew nothing of Beqanna; a vast land of magic and might that he had only seen one corner of.
But today, that would change. Death had brought Kilter and his Angel to Pangea, the barren wasteland that reeked of dismay - it was a poor choice for a young child. His Angel had done well, finding what nourishment she could and seeking shelter to keep them warm through winter. But the snow had melted, the cold tucked away for next year; and while Death still kept his grasp on Kilter, the boy sought for more. He was no longer weak and trembling at Death’s door. He had flourished under the Angel’s care in the past few weeks, and was restless with the energy he had discovered.
“Please, please can we go? I promise I won’t wander far. I swear I’ll listen to everything you say.” He had begged his Angel, the fire haired mare who was constantly by his side. He wanted to see the edges of Beqanna, he wanted to see more. Pangea was too quiet, and no place for a boy like him to make friends. His Angel relented, because it seemed the only thing she wanted was to see Kilter smile. (Little did the wolvine boy know that there was so much more going on inside that mind). And off they went, to the meadow of Beqanna, which Kilter had never seen.
The journey seemed long, and Kilter’s still-weak legs tired, but as they crested the meadow, the weary was worth it. The silver boy bounded throughout the growing grass; flora and fauna a sight for sore eyes after his stay in Pangea. His spindly legs flouted him throughout the meadow, his eyes taking hold of each flower and creature and sight (with equal measure to look back to his Angel).
And there before him stood a woman of green - her skin a ramptan color of the rainbow - the only other soul that Kilter had seen, save for his Angel, with such a tumultuous color. “Hi.” Shyly, he steps forward - his eyes fixed to the rippling green and purple before him.

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k i l t e r
eight and topsail’s timid telekinetic

’m sure it was quite strange for his Angel to see him so lackadaisical – the silver boy was usually quite demure, quiet, and stern in his actions. The brazen winter and Death seemed to harden him to the usual things that brought joy to young children. The Angel followed him, her dark coat and his pale one creating a universe – a star amid the night sky, a whole world of possibilities stretching before them. (Though, not really – their only possibility was Death; Deimos never far from where they were). It was a comfort to the young lupine, though – his life had been riddled with solitude and hardship, and to have the Angel by his side was a welcome relief.
She stays wary and away as Kilter approaches Circinae, perhaps as a nod to his budding confidence – but ever so polite is she as she nods in greeting. The forest mare before him is bright and cheerful, her voice ringing a greeting that seems to carry no ill will. Circy, Kilter greedily drinks in the name – the first soul for him to meet save for Death, Ruan, and his Angel. She sneezes, and Kilter hops slightly in surprise, his eyes momentarily going wide before a small peel of laughter falls from his mouth- “Bless you!”
He looks back to his Angel and bumps her side lightly with his – a clash of star and night. “This is Raeg’n, my Angel.” His face alights in an uncharacteristic childish grin at the words; the first time he has spoken aloud the fact that he had an angel all to himself. “I’m Ruan. We live in Death’s house.” Words flowed through him, surprising himself. Raeg’n and Kilter spoke in short bursts, their words communicated mostly through body, eyes, the feeling in the air. “Are you an angel too?” Her vast coloring, though not in hue to Raeg’ns, was unique and strange – perhaps all angels wore colors.
He looked to his Angel once more - “Is she an angel too? She’s got colors on her skin like you.”

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k i l t e r
eight and topsail’s timid telekinetic

trange how companionship spreads from abandonment. Beqanna was rife with young souls who had been shirked by their parents – products of rape, or lack of interest, or the pure fact that mother just had a child each year and at some point, they had to grow up and on their own. And then there were the angels who stepped in, who spread their wings like a safe haven and provided comfort and care. Did Circinae have a past like this too? Was she once an angel and protector like Raeg’n? The ease and lackadaisical, easy conversation seemed to hint at such – although Kilter wouldn’t be one to know. His experience with adults had been a too busy mother, a corrupt father, silent Ruan, imprisoning Death, and his Angel. Even his Angel had been tepid at first (although tepid could be exchanged for wary, on guard for danger) - she handled Kilter like a responsibility sometimes, eat – sleep – shelter – danger, and was just beginning to crack open her outer shell – share smiles with him, soft nudges, and tender teasing.
His Angel shrugged – an answer she could not give – and Kilter responded with a small tightening of his brow before looking to Circinae for an answer. It came in the form of a peel of laughter, easy and light hearted. Kilter’s eyes widened with an innocent disbelief- she had called Kilter interesting. Interesting ; a word he had never been described as before. His mother was interesting; morphing to a Jurassic creature at will, his siblings were interesting; gifted with the ability to talk without speech, his father was interesting; an all-powerful being, his Angel was interesting; a gift from the gods. But he? He was just a silver sliver in life. He was barely surviving at best (at least no longer half dead). He had no special ability, no powerful position; he was even identical in look to his sibling. Interesting was not what he would call himself- and so he made a face, half concentration and half doubt.
So she was not an angel, just magnificently colored. Kilter sighed, the proposition of two angels had been exciting – Raeg’n could have finally had a friend like her. But he understood, sometimes it was just the way things were. “My father could change colors, but never like a peacock. I’m not as interesting as anything like you or him or my Angel.” Kilter remembered vaguely his mother explaining to his brother, who so adamantly asked why he couldn’t look like father instead of the triplets – his father changed his coat so they would all look just like mother. The things men did for women.
Circy is quick to push past Kilter’s impending disappointment and carries on the conversation. Kilter shrugs, peeking towards Raeg’n, unsure if he’s equipped to handle this question. “Death hasn’t come for me yet, so my Angel thought we could explore. Death’s home doesn’t have much.” Again, Kilter looks to Raeg’n - unsure of what next. He had never been taught socialization very well, his life had been spent with the wolves, and body language and calling out to one another had been the best he knew.

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k i l t e r
eight and topsail’s timid telekinetic