Neverwinter Forest hurting. longing. dancing to disco music.

Lótë watched him closely, heart softening in beat with her eyes as she observed the timid, overtly gentle mannerisms. 

"Aya," the mother rasped back, voice hoarse from the pent up emotions and days spent in solitude with her newest child. "He is a son." She tried not to think of her boy's sleeping twin in that moment but there was a quiet ache -- one Lótë wasn't sure would ever abate. 

"Thank you," she demurred softly when silence had fallen between them, gesturing to the bird with a small dip of her chin.