Moonspear Second, don't you tell me what you think that I can be

Even after she arrived, the white king did not let go of the boy — and for every moment that another’s teeth lay against her child, Olive’s expression fell further from general discontent to genuine fear. But it was all over in an instant and he soon released the small boy. Olive wished to rush to her boy and pull his small frame into her arms and kiss him until there was no soreness left in his body; but her body leadened under Charon’s challenging gaze, unabashedly asserting himself over her, and the mother averted her sidereal gaze from his. Instead of move closer to her babe, she remained close to the ground, ears splayed back against her skull and a single, a dainty forepaw lifted and held close to her body should the king want to submit further.

“Yes h— he will learn,” she affirmed, her tone soft and fragile. The sylph allowed her gaze to rise up to glimpse the man’s stern visage and she tried to determine whether or not she would attempt to stand; a swift glance to the taciturn girl at his side made her decision that, no, she would not rise — but no more would she rise than she would keep herself from her child one second longer, so she slunk over to the boy and wrapped her waifish, pale body round him — not in a way that seemed guarded or untrusting of the mountain king, but in the way a mother might hold her child tight after a mild scare. He and his sister were the last vestiges of a life she once considered happy — they was precious, and the druid only felt assured of their safety when they was by her side. 

Slowly, carefully, the woman’s carriage rose until she was sitting. ”I am Olive, this is Aries.” She greeted, holding her son back with a hooked forelimb. He would not be the cause or undergo any other profaneness — as long as his mother was there to coax her spitfire babe down the right path. “You… are Charon,” she whispered plainly, hoping to say I know who you are, I know your position in more or less words. It was the first time they had met, but not the first time she had heard his name. A sidelong glance was offered to the dark girl his side — Olive did not know her name, but she had been present at her acceptance upon the borders. It was her, wasn’t it? The scents of the mountain family intermingled quite heavily and Olive found it difficult to pull one from the other; as was the case with the one who stood off of the king’s side.