Hushed Willows i heard the old songs radiating from you

at a month old, while his siblings grew in leaps and bounds, atwood remains -- not stunted, but small, small enough to give ariel cause to fret, though given his genetics and the circumstances of his birth, it is a smallness earned fairly. beyond his smallness he is healthy, still prefers his mother's belly to meat-paste, perhaps because he realizes the option is dwindling (if he is capable of that much thought, yet). his eyes have been open and he speaks in small sounds, oddly thoughtful sounding for a child.

but at a month old all that atwood really cares for is what seems to lie beyond the sanctity of their haven. it is impossible to know the beauty of the roses when they are what you have first laid eyes upon--without comparison, he has no reason to feel moved. instead his small blue eyes are on the exit and that great beyond and he moves as close to it as he is allowed under ariel's watchful eye and croons. olive has let them explore and he wishes to go further, beyond the gardens into the full world.