Neverwinter Forest (m) he reflects hope and worry like a troubadour

The furrow deepened in thought when the answer came. He would not have understood if she hadn't spoken it aloud as well, and duly, he committed the word to memory.

Demons.

He understood, then, or he thought he did.

-"Looking for nice sticks,"- he replied, just a little stunned by her blasé reaction, but his worldview was quickly adjusted. He wondered, though, if she would do what his mother had done to save the spirit — perhaps she had not had time enough to grow attached, and was content allowing the spirit to move on.

He wondered if this, perhaps, was the more loving and selfless act.

-"What do you do with it?"- he asked, unable to help looking back at the... whatever it was. The beginnings of what would have been new life, if he was correct in his assumptions.