Hushed Willows I'll stake rare toothpicks in my dirt-filled heart

Blossom.
Alright, alright, c'mere, near instantaneously, Boone's attention is ripped from the pelt at his feet and now rests upon his wife. His arms open in an invitation and she falls into his chest, temple against sternum. we'll find her, alright? It'll be okay. Maybe she just hasn't learned the boundaries of the territory yet. or, perhaps, it was a symptom of teenage rebellion, but he wasn't about to suggest it.
After a time, he pries himself from her grasp and motions for her to lead him where she last caught a sign of her presence. There was no time for panic, not now, not when his wife still hobbled with ribbons of resistant pain; not when his stepdaughter needed him.