Moonspear oh, this empty thing i've done

small, half-stifled cries wracked his little frame, which seemed so overwrought with grief that it could scarce stem the overflow. his breaths came in shaky rasps, and the noises that pressed from his throat seemed neither sobs nor wails, but a strange and muffled whimper.

he was too consumed by the newfound flaw in his eyes to notice hydra until her cold nose pressed against his shoulders; he cared little by the perceived invasion, and instead turned round to face his sister, his muddled eyes brimmed with swampy tears -- instinctively, he pressed into any available part of her, burying his head so that she might not see (and consequently, hate) the abhorrent mustard color that blemished his otherwise exceptionally clear blue gaze.