Lost Creek Hollow A wet world aches for a beat of a drum

arbiter's annoyance was perhaps mona's projection; she sniffed back her tears and reached to touch her brother's nose with her own. "this is my brother, cortland. and his ... son?" she whispered, glancing down at the boy, seeing how he indeed was such an image of cortland, of the mayfairs they both were.
"this is arbiter, our leader," she introduced, "and ... this is ashlar. my son," mona murmured, her eyes returning unbidden to cortland's own. oh! how long it had been.