Stone Circle Sewing stitch by stitch

sleep does not come easy to cyron. it hasn't in quite some time. he no longer even tries to keep up pretenses of being able to share a den with his parents anymore — the walls and press of their bodies and combined heat presses down onto him until his throat begins to close and each breath is a panic filled struggle. he needs his own space, his own den ...but he does not delude himself into thinking he would use it much of the time. he has to be able to see the stars, to see the vast and never ending expanse of the sky. even then, there are some nights he does not sleep at all. if he's asleep: he's vulnerable. if he's asleep the nightmares leech into his brain like the roots of a greedy parasite.

most mornings, like this particular morning, he can be found slumbering lightly — light enough that he won't dream — curled up nearby his parent's den. cyron stirs awake easily as he hears mawk call for him and lets out a yawn with a slight stretch. he'd just gotten asleep an hour or so ago making his sleep more of a cat nap but he has no intentions of telling his father that. he's internalized everything about his time spent in captivity, shielding his parents from the horrors he's endured beyond what they could physically see upon his arrival back home. "hey dad." cyron greets mawk as he rises and shakes his pelt free of errant debris, his curled tail giving a soft wag in greeting. dull chestnut gaze goes to the rabbit hanging from betwixt his father's jaws before it flickers back up to his pop's face. eating is a whole other demon but it's becoming easier and slowly his appetite is returning and growing bigger.