Hushed Willows consumed with that which it was nourish'd by

abruptly, young atwood has undergone a growth spurt,  his body stretched and pointed where it was soft and curved before. he observes these changes with some discomfiture, feeling rather gangly when he tries to squeeze in beside his brothers. all elbows. it does not take the edge off his anger over cortez's departure, which is still fresh and mean inside his ribs. there is no where he can direct it - he feels fiercely for his brothers, and will not wield it against them, nor his living mothers. no - this is for cortez (and for ariel, though he has not admitted that to himself yet). 

stupid uncle. shouldn't matter. 

he skulks through the willows, ignoring the delicate beauty of his environment in favor of scowling at every rock he sees. so absorbed is his scowling that he does not notice the new, strange woman until he is nearly upon her, stumbling back quickly as if shocked. "sorry!" atwood blurts, his ears sweeping back. she's new -- he's never seen her before and at this point, atwood knows pretty much everyone in the willows -- and she's doing something with some strange-smelling plants -- oh, he recognizes some of those smells, though, from mama olive's stores. his surprise is quickly overtaken by his curiousity, the trace of his bad mood momentarily lifting from his expression. "what're you doing?"