Swiftcurrent Creek burning a kite; i'm at a funeral, nothing unusual

The eye contact startles him more than any words ever could, softens him in the slightest ways. Probably, He answers, unaffected by the harshness of the statement. It's logical, after all, from what little information he's given. Unbidden, he offers more, if only to fill the silence. She never seemed to love me. She avoided me, and doted on my siblings. And when I was younger, I thought it was her fault that I was born the way I am — that everyone thinks I'm a girl, when I'm not. He glances briefly toward her corpse, then back to the other living wolf with him, seeking to meet his gaze again. He likes the eye contact, unexpectedly. She never knew that.