Afternoon of Dread

In a way, he understood. In a way, he didn't. He was an old soul trapped in the body of a young boy... and still a young boy. Though he is a quiet, solemn thing, there is still a child in there. A child in there, somewhere. A child who needs his mother more than he would care to admit. A child who doesn't know how to process the news, the grim news that he catches the adults whispering about. A healer's heart, a warrior's will, both things within the very soul of the lion hearted boy.

He'd been out looking at the gardens, trying to sort out any plants he could bring inside to help... well, to help handle things. There were so many different flowers in the gardens that really, Dread didn't know what he was looking at. Maybe a bit frustrated with himself and the gaps in his knowledge, the boy was just coming back inside. It's then, at the foot of the staircase, he sees her. Dread's brow furrowed, rushing to his mother's side. "Ma... should you be up?" He looks up at her, coming close enough to (in his mind) catch her if she needed. He knew enough about what Halo was always telling those who were sick or injured-- rest. They needed to rest. Mom needed to rest, to save her strength. How was she going to get better if she wasn't resting?

"Dread Fatalis"