The little boy nodded at the white lady’s words. He sure hoped his father was sleeping, that he would sleep away every day the whole day and the whole day after for many many days so that he would not walk around in the house and be angry. Yes, sleep was a very good thing. Sometimes, when Conor felt unhappy, he took a nap, and afterwards, he felt a little bit better, so perhaps if daddy slept a lot and a lot he could actually be nice. He continued to nod, although now he was only working with reassuring himself about this fact. Yes, daddy was sleeping and would sleep for a very long time. The boy’s lilac eyes sought out the icy blue, wondering if this woman was nice or bad. His daddy usually never pretended to be nice, but it did happen. This woman seemed more genuine in several ways, although her colouration was less welcoming because of the lack of warmer colours. That was not her fault though, and he thought it made her pretty.
The next question voiced by the adult made a pout slowly form on his lips, although the boy honestly attempted to hide the incoming wave of tears, he was quickly failing. He did. It was a complicated question, though. He missed what she had been, what they had been. Mothers were supposed to stay with their children, but his did not. He did not understand why. He did not want to understand why. It just was not right. His ears fell down at his skull in a depressed manner, but he could not stabilize his voice enough to grant her an answer. She would think he was stupid and knew nothing now. Nobody liked him anyway, except for Lexey, and he had his doubts about her. She was the Caretaker of the pack, so she was supposed to pretend to like him and be with him anyway. He wondered what was real and what wasn’t. The child looked away from the Rosea, staring at the stomped down grass. He was a grass killer too.