Sunset Valley Who tends the orchards? Who fixes up the gables?

Pain had been instilled within the boy far earlier than he could voice the words for it. Ever present, there were times where he was incorrigible. Endless wailing for someone to mend him. He did not understand why his maker hadn't. Why couldn't she take it away? The long term consequences of the injury lost on one so young.

Others there was nothing but despair. Lost in the dark, Caan could not bear the exhaustion. Every last of his strength sapped away as his body tried to repair itself. He would not crawl in these moments, for wherever he went the pain followed.

His maker does not let him wallow in this. She prods and nudges and presses kisses to his head. A weak jaw opened to let out a tired breath.

Leave me be. The boy could not speak these words yet, and if he could he had no strength too.

A new scent clings to his mother. It slicked his face where she pressed her tongue, and it was held close to him. His nose touches her paw to find it damp. It does not smell like her milk. Exhausted, Caan lets his head drop back to her belly.