Hushed Willows plain white shirt and a skinny black tie

truthfully atwood doesnt know what to make of reif or sundance, though sundance, at least, has always struck him as relatively more straightforward. he watches reif cover the stick with his paw, taking no offense at the gesture (why would he want to take it anyway?). reif agrees, yes, it is raining, and atwood offers nothing further, content to be quiet in the rain with him, not sure what else he would ask for, if he has something to ask for.

but it seems his brother does have something to ask. ah, he thinks. does he? it's noticeable, their mama's absence, and it's certainly made his other mothers sadder, though they try their best to cover it. the den is slightly less warm these days. there's fewer gentle histories mumbled to them about places he's never seen and won't remember. and then there is the blood.

he draws his lips back in a grimace and says, "i think about him," which is not quite the same thing, but he reckons, close enough. "i think about.. what happened," he adds, ears flattening back to emphasize the significance of it. do you, he wants to ask, but doesn't, more interested in what reif might add instead.