Sun Mote Copse Dear Daddy-Long-Legs

there were many things in this world arcturus did not like -- but none measured to the bottomless fear he had, when he looked upon wraen and saw her eyes were flat and tired.

he never wished to see that again -- the sight haunted him long after he looked helplessly away, over the misty rainbow sheen of the waterfall, up the cascade -- anywhere, but that flat and lifeless expanse of green.

"well, the bar is very low." arcturus countered, struggling then to pull all the threads that wraen had given him. all the little morsels and threads she had provided, to weave an illustrious and storied tapestry. he would not come close to her artistry, but at least he could take her mind off of her suffering and maybe, show her how much just being around him had changed him for the better.

his story would not have dragons or moss trolls or even ice queens. perhaps in that way, it might hit a little closer to home. "there is a saying, when the lamb is lost in the mountain he will cry. sometimes, you get the mother.

sometimes, you get the wolf.

this is that story -- of a wolf and a lamb." his gaze flickered to wraen to see if any life stirred in that depressive green, or any recognition.