Dragoncrest Cliffs Every single one's got a story to tell

She is quiet for a moment, watching the moon drape over his tawny fur—he looks so much like his father in the light of the stars above them and her heart skips a beat—before she takes a step closer. As much as she wants to close the distance and touch him, she does not. She’s always been afforded touch with her sons when the birth of her first born had been taken away from her and forced to keep it to herself that the disgraced fos goufa is her own flesh and blood. Eastwood had been the first of hers to keep, to love, to give all her motherly instincts to, and he hates her.
 
Mom, he says and her ears fall back. Her eyes droop to the ground for only a moment—her posture gives nothing away that she is now second in Drageda—and she finally takes a step closer but does not push her luck. If he does not want her close, she will not, but why else is he here?
 
“What brings you here?” she says with a soft voice that she does not often boast, without an ounce of accusation. She is happy to see him, happy that he even speaks one word, and she can only hope that, perhaps, he may one day forgive her for a mistake she already beats herself up about.