Cerulean Cape transcendentalism

Mink often thought of his grandmother. It was hard at first, but her death would strengthen him - this was something she had pressed in to him during those final days. Yuma was a storm unto herself, indomitable, powerful, sweeping in unexpectedly sometimes, and seeing that power slowly fading from her was a torturous experience for the boy. It felt as if she were with him now; the ominous feeling in the air, that energy, was like her spirit watching over him. Mink was distracted - finding himself stalled more often than not, obsessed with watching those clouds, until he tripped in his stride and nearly bailed in to a similarly distracted stranger.

"Oh - !" he exclaimed as he pivoted and caught his balance, tail raised more out of surprise than anything. He was puffed up a bit, although his dense coat barely shifted. "um, sorry," murmured the boy as he rounded about the stranger, hoping he had not done harm.

"Mink!" his grandmother would've called - "don't slouch! Be proud! You are a child of the wind and should not be so meek!"
Alas, he could not help it.