Haunted Wood A sprinkle of glamour, a dollop of charm, trading,

The proximity she offered was more generous than most would afford him, and he absorbed her closeness for what it was -- close, and just beyond anything he would ever reach. What was it like, to feel a touch that was kind, to feel a touch from anyone other than his mother? Even his mother had trembled, from time to time, in moments he imagined she thought hidden from his eyes. And he imagined despite her grinning disposition that almost reached him like sunlight after the rain, that stalwart Célnes trembled, too.

He smiled a closed and half-lipped grin. "Now isn't that strange," he murmured, and ran a paw along the length of the antlers, "two grand blessings in such a short and cursed life." He traced his mother's etchings, and his own, gnawed into the relic to preserve the histories they shared. Each had its meaning, known only between the two of them. "Surely more than many have seen in two, three, four times my lifetime. Isn't that interesting." He looped his forearm around the tines in a familiar and habitual way, and turned sharp pumpkin eyes upon his earthen kin, "Wouldn't you agree?"