Elohim gave a sheepish smirk when she mentioned his condition -- or rather, his relative lack of condition. They'd done well enough in terms of staying fed and sheltered, but well enough wasn't enough to keep any wolf in their prime. Part of him was glad that his companion seemed content with allowing him a moment to take his fill. It would have been unbecoming to have one's stomach growling, or to be caught sneaking bites between words. Still, he couldn't help but grow curious about her rather... passive nature towards her son, or at least Elohim took her words to mean passiveness. Elohim had assumed Lillyheart had crossed into Glorall in search of him, but maybe he had been wrong. Perhaps finding her son would have just been an incidental thing, a little bit of luck between some other task. Of course, he didn't want to comment on it. Instead, he simply nodded, though it was not as if he had been looking forward to their next topic of conversation: explaining that a stranger's entire world had been destroyed wasn't exactly an enthralling, enviable task.
I see. Though the words had been so brief, Elohim felt that they weighed heavily in the very air around them. As Lillyheart shifted, he too rose to attention, though he refrained from offering a shoulder of support as she swayed. It seemed improper to suggest that she was anything but capable, even if her age seemed to really show the moment she stood and bared herself completely. Elohim couldn't help but notice her height, similiar to his own, and yet the years had forced muscle and fat to slip away beneath the pale fur, revealing ghostly hints of shoulder bones, hip bones. For all his years in Moladion, Elohim had never seen a wolf wear their age so proudly, or at least so blatantly. Often, the elders seemed desperate to conceal their years, sometimes to the extent of concealing their very selves from the rest of the world. It was admirable, he thought, though he tried to conceal any sign of obvious admiration.
Elohim had moved to speak, but Lillyheart had taken the lead before he could even start. He closed his mouth and listened closely, his eyes hard on his companion. It seemed important. If the words had felt heavy before, then certainly he felt that Lillyheart might seek to crush them both with the weight of her next ones. Elohim could, he swore, practically feel them settling into his very bones. How uncommon was it, after all, to meet a wolf who had known the Cataclysm all those years ago? Who had known the packs, the wolves, of so long ago? Cold shivers ran the length of his spine.
Elohim paced forward, slow and steady. His ear gave a curious flicker at the name Castor, a name that made his brows furrow momentarily. Castor. Elohim knew such a name, though distantly at best. His father, Eden, had taken the name up in his youth, a name stolen from some dead wolf who had not needed it anymore...Some dead wolf. Staring in the face of Lillyheart, Elohim wondered if he imagined it: those eyes, though faded, seemed in part like his own, but so similar to the harsh, gold-orange of his father's. Similar, in some way, to Ava's...He had to shake his fur out, freeing it from sand and thoughts.
Lillyheart had moved by then, out of the water, and Elohim was thankful for that. His companion had made a place beside him, having lowered down to the ground once again, and Elohim felt a bizarre combination of uncertainty and duty. He had never been one to be physically close with others (having learned from Aster long ago that it could easily result in nothing but misery), yet he felt a sense of duty to tend to Lillyheart. Though he hesitated, he shifted closer and then lowered himself next to her. Of course, he lay in such a way that he appeared openly tense - alert, rather - but the invitation was clear enough.
He had wanted to speak up several times, but he had refrained each time. His words didn't seem appropriate, after all. Besides, the story had been a fascinating one. He had not been able to take his eyes off Lillyheart, though he looked away when he noticed the tears - let his companion decide, he figured, if he was permitted to witness that kind of thing. In any case, he did not even flinch when Lillyheart spoke of consuming others. Elohim had not been raised to despise it, though he did not believe himself capable - or entirely approving - of the practice itself. Flesh was, ultimately, flesh, no matter which form it took, be it elk, deer, wolf or seal. The dead didn't need the bodies, did they?
"Lillyheart." He finally repeated the name after several moments, the story having seemingly come to a close. He bowed his head as he spoke it, a respectful motion. "I am Elohim, born here in Glorall." In a similar fashion, Elohim did not speak directly of his parents. Achlys hurt to speak of, and Eden hurt in another way. Best to be a son of the ocean, the waves, the shore.
"You are strong for having survived all that you have -- as is your son, and you more so for having the courage to raise him despite it all. Perhaps he named you Lillyheart for he saw something blooming inside you. You are as real a parent as any other could hope to be." He gave a non-committal shrug and a small grin at the idea. "Devil May Cry, Kane, and many others live on in the blood of Moladion. Your own kin too, perhaps. The Burning Skies might have taken much from you, but there is just as much you can still take back." He wondered, with a tilt of his head, just how much of Moladion Lillyheart would know -- how much of it still mirrored parts of Old Moladion? He could not deny his own curiosity about it...
"You are more than welcome to rest here, Lillyheart. Perhaps after some rest, I might escort you towards where Paracon once stood. It is nearby, and who can say? You might see something you know." And even if they didn't find Paracon, they might at least find Lillyheart's son.