Whitefish River Vote correctly or never see your loved ones again

Dragomir regretted kicking the moonstone away the second he heard it thump into the bushes. He didn't truly want to lose it, but it was too late now. Not like he could get up and go fetch it. He turned his ire to his useless legs, fixing the full force of his glower on those spindly atrophied limbs. Stupid legs. If not for his stupid broken legs, Dragomir could have chased after his mother when he found his tongue again and told her if she left him again he would never, ever forgive her.

Hei, said Vercingetorix as he entered the thicket, drawing Dragomir's glare on to him instead of his pathetic, stiff, broken chicken legs. Wanna talk about it? No, said Dragomir's expression, but the film of tears in his eyes said the opposite. The wobble of his lips was telling, but he did his best to hide it. He was five months old now. Too old for being a crybaby, even if he felt like he had a pretty good reason for all of it.

Why does she always leave? he wondered, words clipped with a fierce clack of his teeth at the end. Why didn't you stop her?