Sun Mote Copse I'll be resting my eyes

Elfie had not been oblivious to, what was happening with his mother, but he was very good at hiding that anxiety behind doing something all the time. If he was not napping, he was playing, he was exploring, he was getting on Weejay's nerves, he was a little shark-teethed jerk on his father or any other baby-sitter that happened to be around. And he was eating.

His hunger was voracious. If nothing else could calm him down, he began to eat. And eat he did until he was full, until he grew sick and vomited it all out, only to pick up the pieces again. Eating made him happy for a while and sleepy, full belly and feeling of being on the brink of nausea kept the looming cloud of badness at bay. The problem he tried to solve was way bigger than him and he coped with it the best he could. 

Elfie distanced himself from his father and sister, whose emotional turmoils he did not understand and could not stand. They inspired anger in him that he did not understand. He did not approach his mother, who was wasting away because of the disease, though time from time one would catch him sitting quietly and observing her with a deep-set frown in his features, an accusing look in his eyes. 

Even as she called for them today, he approached unwillingly, cast a glance of disgust at his sobbing father and Weejay, then his eyes set on Wildfire's - cold and angry, challenging her to do something, to change things, not to fail him.