Northstar Vale i am a hallucination of myself at three years old

something about her soothes him: she has the same gentle bearing as his mothers, all fine-boned, kind creatures that they were in his memories. under her gaze he relaxes, feeling a sharp pang of nostalgia as he does. strange, he hadn't thought that he'd missed elysium or the idea of his childhood beyond thinking, ah, well, a shame how that ended.

"we-ell," atwood drawls, reflective, "i've been with my brother, mainly, and he's a star-gazer, and to my knowledge, most of my family does - did - medicinal arts of various kinds. i know a little bit from him, um, but..." injury makes him uncomfortable, brings to mind moments he can't make sense of entirely, yet. he hums. "something like that, anyway. i'm not sure i'm built for fighting," atwood adds, flashing a tentative grin.