Skye, stahp. You make me crey.
He should have known that his mother would have understood the angle he was coming from. She had loved their father–he need not had to look or remember hard enough to know that. But, while he felt pleased with his own situation, to be reminded of Skye's own suddenly hit him. Caught up in his own little world and happenings, he had all but forgotten his own mother, and the weight that fall on his chest nearly knocked the air out of him.
Who was he to be babbling about love to her when his father had basically walked out on them? He glanced down at Emseralda, still ruffling her up with a hand, but was less excitable than moments ago with his movements. He crouched down again by the wagon, and while he cradled his sister in one arm, he rubbed Ares' dark little head, not wanting him to think he was not going to pay any attention to him, "I'm sorry that I have been busy lately..." It was not much of an apology, but it was all he could scrap up without turning too emotional.
"Are these guys giving you any trouble lately?" he asked, his muzzle upturning into a smile. "I could watch them a little while whenever you have to go to something." Perhaps he could make up his absence, or at least start at the tip of the iceberg.
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