Meadowlark Prairie Can't see the stars, but we're reaching

He snatched his ears back against his lumpy shoulders when she reprimanded him (she didn't, but he heard it that way) and indignant denial pressed its hot blade to his ribs. Ramsay had never been reprimanded like that by anyone. It reminded him of Potema, and his warmth toward Indra began to slowly circle the drain. But she was nothing like Potema, who hadn't so much as sought him out or spoken a word to him since his birth, so he lingered because curiosity told him to, and he wanted to like this stranger. Her coat was too fascinating not to.

Fixated as he was, he swayed a few steps closer, eyes dropping to the ground. "Don't know," he answered honestly. Ramsay didn't think anyone would bury any part of him when he was dead and gone—who loved a twisted little thing like him, save his litter mates?—but he also didn't think he would care either way. "Can't see when you're dead," he tried, with a little smile that was supposed to seem hopeful, but probably just came off smug or insensitive.