Hushed Willows [m] I'll grow bitters on the borders of your whistling skin

boone's jaws stretch in a wide-berthed yawn, and his footfalls are heavy as he trudges closer to the denmouth. i'm sure i needed a new sleep schedule anyway.
he blinks away the grogginess and his eyes finally focus on her gift. an ungulate's antler, painted violet and decorated with colors he never even really knew existed. it was so delicate, so intricate, so thoughtful —
the first thing he does after staring at it for way too long is burst into ugly, messy tears.