Hushed Willows [festival] the sun's not yellow, it's chicken

The titan listened carefully as the rest of the story was shared. When the agouti male had completed his retelling of the tale, it had left Ford with a peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. He understood how stories were intended; they followed the actions of a few particular characters. The rest were merely creatures in the background. To him, the idea that Sierra was only used to offer children to her sister seemed to be a disservice to who she was on her own. They knew next to nothing about the sister, other than that she was the only one of the two who was capable of carrying young pups.

Even still, when the story had been concluded, it was revealed that Flora was finally given the blessing of children for herself. It had all but negated anything that Sierra might have done for them. Ford felt as though the sister had been forgotten – used and then discarded when she was no longer needed. He did not share his feelings with the group, knowing that it would not have shone a very good light on his mindset. He had gone there to revel in the stories, after all.

With a small nod of appreciation to the storyteller, the titan breathed a soft sigh. The story still lingered inside of him, though. No matter how long he thought on it, he could not come to a point that he appreciated it for what it was. He wondered how many lines had passed that tale along. He wondered how many young girls had heard the very same words and thought to themselves that they were only good for breeding. The thought lit a fire in the pit of his stomach, and he gritted his fangs to hold it down.