Otter Creek a raft of otters

Disquiet laced Needle’s expression as Stark explained.She was surprised, most of all, to discover that he could not remember how exactly he’d been displaced. This brought to mind the blurred edges in her own memory: a slate sometimes obscured from her mind’s eye, appearing differently depending on the available light, and other times wiped entirely clean of all recollection and acknowledgement of trauma, done so out of necessity alone.

She wondered if it was the same for him. Had his mind been cleared so that he might press on? Was the truth too devastating to recollect?

His words sunk deep. The little dragon hoarded all of him she could understand and tucked away everything else that she couldn’t — remembering these things for a day when they would make sense to her.

His sister wasn’t powerful enough. She had only wisdom, whereas Stark had both strength of mind and body. Whether it was true or not, this is what she inferred from his tale. This was the lesson she would take and use to plaster and brick her own foundations.

Needle’s attention was drawn once more to his noble countenance, to the lack of an eye. Though healed over, the slash he bore looked like a painful reminder of his past. But which part? A section of the solid, or a piece of the mystery? She hesitated to finally ask. Do you remember how you lost your eye?