Whitefish River if you're listenin', sing it back

He was working on his favorite stick, settled in the thicket that mom had moved them to. He rarely wandered very far, never wanting to cause their mother any unneccessary worry since she seemed to worry about so many. He had chewed his stick so much that he had taken it down to almost a half of its original size, and he was set on chewing the entire thing to pieces eventually.

His project was paused, though, at the sudden appearance of his brother with a glob of very sad looking plants hanging from his mouth. He inspected the mess of flower petals and stems with great interest as Castor spit them on the ground in front of him. When he looked back to his brother, his eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. Mom's are never all squished, Acheron commented.