Blackfeather Woods that fuzz on peaches blech

"No," he answered. That one word held a bounty of contempt and it was readable even in his face, worsening as Cicero went on to explain that she did care for others even if she did not care for them. His mother's neglect was a thorn. It had hurt on an instinctual level in the first days of his life and then it had become insignificant — something he hardly noticed. But now it festering, and each new revelation intensified and spread the infection. It seeped into his heart and into his mind.

Euron drew a deep breath. His scorn had made him stiff. He stretched out in a play bow, reaching forward as far as he could and flexing his toes, to relieve himself of the tension. He thoughtfully chewed his cheek as he recalled his last encounter with Potema. Or what of it he could remember.

"She was so mad at me..." he commented. "Last time I saw her." He spoke with unsettling apathy. But then a puzzled expression alighted on his face and he hummed. "Hm. Nevermind." Euron shook his head. "I forgot. I was just dreaming. I saw her in one place but then I woke up in the glen. It seemed real though."