The Heartwood the dark half

the boy simply wanted to go home.

His life had been thus far a confusing wreck, unsure of what he felt or of those around him. This, coupled with his mindset, still very much that of a child, had come to him realizing two things. The grotto, wrapped in faded memories of warmth and comfort and simply happiness, was good and full of things he missed. The wood was an exciting place, and there was Potema, but at the same time there was Damien, who he always felt pressured to, somehow, impress, and there was Xan, a figure that still made him tremble. He was responsible for the many gashs that surrounded his throat, the first anger and fear and panic he had felt in earnst. 

But Potema was almost like another mother-figure to Seff, and her commanding call had him freeze and lower his ears against his skull, fearing this would not be as magical and easy as it ould have been. But at the same time, his mother. Something flickered, changed, and she called to him in a voice that was reminiscent of a childhood lived happily in the grotto. He was spent, yet at his mothers vemour did he find strength to move catiously beside her, eyes wide as he beheld Potema. His mentor, his mother-figure, but not Vuk. "I'm s-sorry, Potema. But-I can't stay. N-not anymore." He admitted, fearful to broach the topic of Xan as his faint voice drifted out warily, in contrast to his mother's anger. But Potema had perhaps done more then she thought to have. No matter his future, things learned in the wood would ensnare the boy, and he would remember much of what he had learned under the woman's tutalige.