Hushed Willows Balenciaga shades so they never see him cry

never a consistent sentence lol my writing style dead at 67

the stag had been thoroughly rejected his entire life;

rejected from the alcove of his mother's womb, jilted soon after from any maternal touch whist he was still wet behind the ears;

rejected from the tight-knit austere family unit in the sawtooth;

rejected a prosperous childhood where maybe he would've taken up trade studying the stars and wildlife with a green thumb ...

so he'd settled with a single father and being a mildly malcontent adult in his prime.

his father had mentioned cultivating a family would come at the most inopportune time, when he would least expect it, so he deliberately encouraged his suffering to a point where it jigsawed to a scenic 1,286 piece set of self-loathing.

and sometimes, he was even thankful speaking was such a challenge for him now. it always shirked him, he loved when things were easy.

seeing @Abel again hadn't helped the shame he wanted to kick and abandon of the shoulder of the highway, and he brooded in the unseen corners of the forest as if he was a forestwraith himself.

he patrolled idly, these faeries so wet behind the ears themselves and soft-bellied, he doubted anything had come for them. maybe, their insistent felicity barred them from the angry whims of nature.

astraeus is always wrong.

the bear would roar, and soon rip and tear until it was done, and blank with uncertainty and penchant of running away in his adulthood, he had to determine if relative strangers and or self-loathing would will the strength to cleave another monster's flesh.