Stone Circle Sleep, pretty darlin’

He mentioned his mother again, and this time with a tone of regret. Skáld tilted his soft ears back, knowing at least in part how it felt to miss someone. He kept memories of his own mother as close to his heart as he could, though occasionally he found them fading. The sound of her voice was a distant lullaby now, its tone shifted and changed every time he tried to recall it. 

"What was your mother's name?" He asked. Perhaps he might not recall her teachings, but he might remember what she had been called, and what she'd been like. Skáld got the sense that perhaps Gunnar did not talk much about his mother- but that perhaps he might want to, now.