“It depends on who you ask,” the Elder replied cryptically.
He looked like a Healer. He was old, but still strong. His hair, unlike the Rogue King’s, was fully white. It was also long, down to his waist – a rarity among warrior wolves, but regular for healers and spell casters.
His gaze was steady, and though his clothing covered most of his body, there were no scars on his hands, neck, or face.
“El… Elder,” Chrystal gasped. “Do you know… My father?”
“Yes, and no.”
She swallowed, her shoulders hunching as she proceeded with her advance toward the man who didn’t move, yet whom she seemed not to be getting any closer to.
“Do you know… My mother?”
“Yes, and no.”
“Do you… Know… Me?” she breathed.
He smiled.
“Yes.”
Her knees gave out, and Castian caught her, holding her up from the
