Sun Mote Copse caught in a river of rockers and dreams

sanguine, first; a billowing of promise seemed to bubble from the cavities of his chest, replacing the anticipation of before. a swelling of hope, for suns yet to pass. everyone was fine, and he wouldn’t have to go anywhere anymore - monochrome ears twitched at wind’s touch, soft. it just felt good, and he couldn’t help the way his lips quirked at the corners, the way his eyes seemed to dance like a cavorting flame, and how, if he was more human, his cheeks would have been rosy with jollity.

uncertain, next; where upon his face was at first an ebullient grin, there came an ambivalence, a hesitation. as though amongst the rejoicing and bliss lurked something horrible. a phantom, awaiting his arrival, spurred on by the pause in towhee’s words. but when at last it came, he could have sworn his heart plummeted to his stomach.

devastated.

it was the only word to describe it, although even that didn’t feel quite strong enough to convey the shattering of his delight. it was like a sinking pit inside his ribs, and further, like it wanted to spread forlorn fingers all over his insides. he’d spoken to phox once about death, hadn’t he? we have many more years, he said, he thought – something along those lines. when he’d looked at whatever animal had gone to lie with the earth, he’d felt a trickle of sadness. rest well friend, he’d thought. but this wasn’t the same, was it?

“yes…” he whispered, before offering the sovereign a slight smile – surely she mustn’t feel guilty about passing the news to him. “yes, if… if that’s okay? i’d like to stay. and i’d like to visit them.” he would wish them well, too.