Arrow Lake The terror you feel in quiet moments is not misplaced, just mistimed

The doughy paws were there; pushing at her face again in resistance as he squealed about. It hadn’t occurred to her, in her rosy daze, that opening one’s eyes and getting your brow ruffled were two sensations that didn’t meld warmly for now.

So Aure retreated with a tiny hum of apology, and laved his tuft gently back into place. A smile still played at her scarred lips, though, and she roosted back about Drago and Isi; her little night and sprightly star. “You two will want to venture into ze world, someday,” came her musing, tinged with some worry. Aure believed, though, that her children had been born to remake the world — didn’t many parents believe the same?

“Before you can, though, you must learn to see it for what it is.” She arced her neck in a wincey little stretch, before curving it down and around her blackberry son; her words a gentle vibration against his bum, her riddled cheek at his elbow. “And you must see it for what it could become, meu mure.”