"You don't know what you're talking about," she teased, affecting an air of mock-offence which crumbled almost instantly at the sound of her son's laughter. His smiles were beautiful, and once upon a time so rare that she made a special effort to notice and cherish every one. The merriment came easier to his eyes these days, for live in the Woodlands was good, was healing. An anxious, angry, lonely boy had joined alongside her, and like the flower which blossomed from something small and withered into something vibrant, Duckweed was changed. Bella had skirted around the topic with @Aideen and @Miccah, but out of respect for the fact that her son wasn't a child any more, she'd resisted the urge to pour her eternal gratitude on them too heavily. They had helped to give him purpose and strength, a confidence which she feared would never emerge, which she feared had been quashed out of him in infancy. She could hear his stutter lessen in severity, see how his tail didn't spend all its time tucked tightly underneath his body.
To think that she had once worried that he might never be able to care for himself, how he might need her forever, and look at him now; the pack fed well and often on the fish he caught alone. She knew that he hadn't yet realised it, not quite, but Duckweed had grown out of his need for his mother.