Haunted Wood And When We Go Don't Blame Us

Memory smiled. There was hope for the young boy yet- especially with that hopeful attitude. 
"Wounds heal with time. You can't rush a wound. You just treat it, slowly and carefully." He frowned and gave a chuckle. "Oh for Fenrir's sake I'm starting to sound like my mother." His voice was one of amusement, but he also felt incredibly alone...where was Seraphina? Would she be proud of him? Would she still look for him? Or had Nix lied, boasted he was dead, laughed at her broken sobs? 
He didn't want to think about it. 
He was taken aback at being called nice. "I've been called a lot of things, kid. Nice has never been one of those things. Nice is a four letter word. Nice means naieve, clumbsy. You don't want to be nice. Good, Strong, Fair, maybe. But not nice."  He hadn't meant to blurt Nix's conditioning all over the boy, but here he was, repeating his own version of Nix's words. He hesitated, lowering his nose to the ground....there. what was that? Soaking a clump of grass, hours old- puppy urine. "C'mere. Think I found something."