Lost Creek Hollow I'm no good at waiting

Had he always been so disarming?

Crowfeather’s gaze snapped to Germanicus, burning hot.

How was he to set it down? How was he to set any of it down?

The burning looks of hatred from his father, the words of disgust, the sharp and punishing fangs of his peers as they tormented him for the softest of admittance. There was no word for what Crowfeather was to his people. They had used many, though. All of them had been wrought with revulsion. And this had only been the start of his young life. Everything that had transpired since had been a feverdream of hopefulness dashed.

How? he asked breathlessly.