Dragoncrest Cliffs Fresh out of an icky gooey womb

Rosalyn seemed pleased about the flower, which made Sobo giggle and bashfully shuffle his paws on the bank. Then he plopped back on his bottom to listen to his mamá's story. It was simplified down from the terrible and arduous affair it had been in truth, just enough for a little boy to be able to follow along. Someone took his mom and hurt her once, but manman and mami triumphed over the evildoers.

When she lowered her head, he was quick to scoot forward and try to place the flower up where the tattered remains of her missing ear were. He tilted back, appraising his work. It wouldn't hold for long, not on these sea-swept cliffs, but that didn't matter. Sobo thought it was a lovely addition, not that Rosalyn could be much more beautiful in his boyish eyes.

Wha be a captive? he asked, tasting the word with a little wrinkle of his nose. He suspected it was nothing good, and while he listened raptly to Rosalyn's story there at the riverside with the flower tucked neatly into her ear-hole, he learned that captives were a vile concept indeed, and dreamt of captives that night, and vowed to himself never to be so barbaric.