Otter Creek Yeah, I'm afraid

In an instant, he was bombarded by question after question, the words seemingly having no end. A frown darkened his expression, then deepened with each word that passed his daughter’s lips. Just as the final one had escaped her, he barked a sharp, “Enough,” before falling silent for several, long seconds. Closing his eyes, he drew in a breath and focused on soothing himself, the search for his piece of mind having begun. And, once it was found, his eyes reopened and he stared at his child, expression void of every emotion known to life itself. There had been a moment, ever so brief, during which he’d allowed for his anger to rule his being—an occurrence that he was not fond of, nor would he allow to happen again in the presence of his youngest daughter.

“Neither,” he began slowly, answering the first inquiry. “Alexander has never been a mute, just as he’s never even been silent. He just doesn’t like answering most questions.” Or, when he did, the answers weren’t the least bit insightful. “My first wife was Scarlett—a wonderful woman, and someone that I probably never deserved. But we claimed a home together anyways and declared it Bearclaw Valley.” He had wonderful memories of the place, as well as of her. Yet, nothing can always be great. He also recalled the bad times, along with all of the negative thoughts he’d had and words he’d spat following their separation. The memories were enough to make him say, “As for why she left, I can’t share that with you.” Surely, it would have upset him even more than her onslaught of questions.