as cyron gradually beings to feel better — physically, at least — he spends less and less time in his parents den. the stronger he becomes as he slowly regains the weight he'd shed during his captivity the more the den began to feel like a cage. he'd spent too long in a cage. he'd spent too long allowing himself to be starved and tormented. so, he works on his hunting. slowly, he improves. he forces himself to eat even during the times that his throat threatens to close up as anxiety wracks through him. that still happened quite frequently but he suffered it — as he did mostly everything in regards to what his time as a captive in blackfeather woods had left him with — in silence. in private. he stills tries to shield his parents from the worst of it, so they might look at him and see a cracked boy but not the extent of just how shattered he is ( and it occurs to him that maybe he's not doing as well as a job as he thought ). he simply doesn't want them to worry, does not want them — his mother in particular — to blame themselves.

he has not forgotten the conversation that he and valette had had, nor her suggestion but each time he works up the courage to seek out her son he balks at last minute and reverts back into the safety of his solitariness. it's what drives him to the circle of stones now, the very heart of easthollow. he wanders and loses himself in his thoughts.

it is easy to lose himself, easy to be physically present, to be aware in a mechanic sense but not be at the same time. cyron lets his guard drop, needing to believe that he was safe in the confines of easthollow's borders. he doesn't, not entirely, of course. a shadow approaches him, startling him out of his thoughts. no, he corrects himself, not a shadow. just a girl. still, he flinches, recoiling sharply at her hello as if she was a venomous snake that had just bitten him. he sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth and lets it out in a heavy exhale that carries with it relief and simmers with humiliation. cyron's dull chestnut eyes lower from her sheepishly and apologetic. he does not tell her that she scared him — it would only be redundant and thus he does not state the obvious. "hello," he responds thickly after a few heartbeats, curled tail giving a soft, tentative wag in response.

the shame cyron feels rise up in his throat as she apologizes and then offers to come back later is constricting. he does not want to come off as off-putting and unwelcome to company. he has not socialized with many upon his return and it's not her fault that he is the way he is. dull chestnut eyes rise tentatively to look at her, taking her in. he does not want her to go away. he's been pushing everyone away and holding them as a ironclad arm's length away — especially his parents even though he knows and sees that it hurts them. he swallows thickly and his ears swivel and flutter back against his skull as he makes his decision. "n-no it's ...it's ok," cyron attempts to assure her. "p-please don't go." his tongue feels heavy in his mouth — a familiar feeling that makes the words feel foreign and causes him to stumble over them. "i'm cyron." he offers his name in introduction, glad that those words did not come out as clumsily as the last ones had.

she does not appear to be perturbed by his inability to speak without stumbling over his own words — likely made worse by his own frustration because he knows he can speak without tripping over his own tongue — and for reasons he can't place he feels his cheeks warm as she offers him a warm smile and his curled tail, of his own accord, gives a soft wag. steph, she introduces herself as. he gives a nod of acknowledgement and though he is left with the feeling that he should say something he doesn't. "yeah," he agrees in a soft murmur as she mentions that the stone circle is cool. it kind of reminded him just a little bit of wolfskull cave and he can't entirely hide the shudder that slithers down his spine, frigid and cold, but of course he does not mention that for more reasons than one. "you're one of uhm, valette's daughters, right?" he feels immediately awkward calling the alpha female by her first name, like it's a privilege he hasn't earned and demurely glimpses down at his paws.

she confirms his suspicions that she's valette's daughter and goes on to name her siblings: clary and ezra. the last catches cyron's attention briefly. valette had mentioned him, had told cyron that he should meet her son. cyron hasn't yet which he feels a slight rise of guilt about but shoves it back down. there was plenty of time, surely. he had a whole lot of time now. a lot of time that he thinks he should invest in something aside from his own mind as troubled and noisy as it is. "no," cyron admits giving his head a shake. her next question affirms that she probably doesn't realize that he's mawk and illecebra's kid. it makes sense. he hadn't been apart of easthollow long before he'd been taken by blackfeather woods. "i'm ah, mawk and illecebra's son. cyron." the missing, troubled son returns and all that jazz. "i wasn't here long before ...i, ah, got kidnapped." he isn't sure how to word it in a entirely discreet way. he doesn't want to talk about it — he never wants to talk about it — but he figures she might already know if word got around easthollow. it was old news, anyway; and cyron does not want to focus upon that but knows that if she asks he would divulge as much as he's willing to give anyone ( which is not much, mind ).