Arrow Lake Carry all your thoughts across an open field

Stag didn't mind the silence that crept between them. He felt bad, even, for the way his mother seemed to struggle to break it. Stigmata's death wasn't her fault anymore than it was his, and the long and unbreakable quiet that yawned between them had been spawned by tremendous and unshakeable grief -- not a lack of community.

He looked up hopefully, meeting his dam's eyes for a moment as she spoke of all of this being his someday. Part of him wished that day would hasten, so he could show the world his mettle -- and a part of him, the more realistic side, recognized that day would come at a cost: likely his mother's ailing health. Looking to the ground, Stag shuffled for an answer. "Can't it be both of ours, forever?" He asked in that feeble hopelessness only a child could muster: why was the world so cold and cruel? Could it not be changed?