The energy Mojag once carried with him was no longer so accessible, yet he could see it in other places: how often Bartholomew ventured boldly to the mainland, or Heda danced in the grass.
He watched her with some envy, and moved to intercept her, only - and this was sudden - he shied at the last second and slowed, turning his attention to a scent or a sound, as if she had not been the target after all.
Mo thought of many things. A part of him thought that answers lay within himself or Sweetharbour - and perhaps Heda could help him, if he could ask for it. But at the same time he was surprisingly reticent; shy when before he had been so lively.
She'd caught him. Of course, he wanted that and didn't at the same time. The usual friendliness appeared in the form of a smile and when Heda spoke, it wavered.
Mmn,
he hummed. Mo looked one way then another, and caught the horizon in his gaze, and sighed a breath too heavy for his age.
I miss my mom.
He said this and his gaze averted to the grass, his toes wriggling in the tangles there. I want to go home, he could not voice.
<3 fading this out, lmk if u wanna revive!
heda supposed she could relate to that. mo didn't seem any happier, the contrary, actually. sweetharbor needed to be a home, not a prison.
"come on." she smiled at him. "let's go talk to bartholomew about getting you home."