The Heartwood a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime

The hurting started almost immediately, but Cypress bit his lip to keep it quiet. He drew parallels from Lagan’s story that weren’t 100% accurate, but glossed over this way, their families sounded almost exactly the same. “My mom is super awesome,” check, “she is the alpha,” check, “and she is hardworking and she kind of kicks ass,” double check. Once upon a time, Cypress could have said the exact same thing — right down to the “nice and understanding” father, the helpful older brother, and the cool cousins. Rannoch hadn’t gotten to know Kjalarr, but Cypress had depended on him heavily when everything else had fallen apart.

“That sounds awesome, Lagan,” the eidolon said, but his tone came off a bit flatter than he would’ve liked, “and the caldera sounds real pretty.” He could see why Lagan didn’t want to leave — and again, didn’t fully understand why Liffey would. He fumbled around for words: “I — your — ” but couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say. Missing his mama and paw had kicked the enthusiasm straight out of him, so he looked a little desperately at Lagan to lift the mood again with his sunny disposition and engaging way of speaking. Usually he looked to Rannoch when he got tongue-tied, but the turquoise-eyed alpha wasn’t around at present — and anyway, there was something about Lagan that reminded Cypress of Alya. It wasn’t his personality or his appearance, but the fact that he had met Cypress outside the shadow of his betters. “I’m a bad conversationalist,” he confessed. “Your family sounds real nice — I’m sorry if I said it weird before.”