Sleepy Fox Hollow where the sun comes through

hear me, o jaes,

he heard, but did not understand, coming closer to a brace of collapsed logs and sniffing in the dark, trying to identify the makeshift shrine's occupant.

was she talking to... him?

he paused, ears pressed forward eagerly, and listened quietly -- raptly -- for more of the fervent prayer, if he had not already been discovered looming. for ego had slunk over diaspora's well-signed borders some time ago, and the loner hadn't bothered to announce his return; too weak-kneed to ever dare call out for the family he'd fled in misguided cowardice.

what if they hated him? what if he hadn't been thought of? what if they didn't remember who he was -- he could barely remember on his own, so...

what if, what if, what if.

he had trespassed to find out. to spy before making himself known. but he had gotten distracted by a voice -- he was entranced with it now -- and the boy took a step in the snow, moving unwittingly closer.