Oak handed the chair legs to the ashen woman and chose a spot nearest to her, where he sat with his tail wrapped around his ankle. He curiously watched his mother feed the growing flames with the ripped pages and wood, listening to the soft crackle of the hungry fire. The pungent smell of smoke dominated the room as the flames rose to life. Warmth swelled into the room, touching his spine with pleasant tingles. Without the biting cold to hamper his mood, the brick-hued boy was beginning to feel very comfortable.
Oak grinned when his mother proposed a story, and although for a moment she left the telling open to them all, he hoped to hear one of hers. She had a way of storytelling that had always soothed him, and he remembered the many times that he and his brothers were lulled to sleep by the soft sound of her voice. When neither of Cambria nor Amata offered, he tuned his attention to his mother, wondering what story she would choose to share today. They all needed to be taken away from reality for a while.
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