the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun
We can leave that for Deimos, Amhran might have joked if his sense of humour had been more developed. For now, though, he merely offers his mother a smile and a nod, adding the task to a mental list and giving the hybrid one last look before heading back to his own planting with Evie. He cocks his head, soaking in the information about the Hollowed Grounds and its ecosystem much like any child learning.
"Perhaps I will go back to visit during Deepfrost and see if there is anything in bloom." The last thing he wants is to cause unnecessary stress to what he's begun to grow here in the greenhouse. Evie is right, though, and at the very least, his seedlings will flourish whatever the weather in the Citadel's greenhouse.
Subtle though it might be, Amhran has spent more time watching Evie than anyone else since he'd sprung from the soil and onto two feet, and he reaches automatically to clasp a hand - dirty, albeit - to her forearm. "It seemed to be flourishing when I visited," he tells her earnestly. As for the Ancients? He knows only the basics about the fiery race that has taken up residence in his mother's birthplace, but he can give an educated guess.
"If their bloodlust is less frequent than regular hunger, they may become part of the region's natural cycles. Animals may begin to produce more offspring to compensate, or the Ancients may cull invasive species." If they're wise. Alas, Amhran hasn't yet come to terms with the more chaotic aspects of that race.
"Would you like to go back there?" he asks suddenly.
"Perhaps I will go back to visit during Deepfrost and see if there is anything in bloom." The last thing he wants is to cause unnecessary stress to what he's begun to grow here in the greenhouse. Evie is right, though, and at the very least, his seedlings will flourish whatever the weather in the Citadel's greenhouse.
Subtle though it might be, Amhran has spent more time watching Evie than anyone else since he'd sprung from the soil and onto two feet, and he reaches automatically to clasp a hand - dirty, albeit - to her forearm. "It seemed to be flourishing when I visited," he tells her earnestly. As for the Ancients? He knows only the basics about the fiery race that has taken up residence in his mother's birthplace, but he can give an educated guess.
"If their bloodlust is less frequent than regular hunger, they may become part of the region's natural cycles. Animals may begin to produce more offspring to compensate, or the Ancients may cull invasive species." If they're wise. Alas, Amhran hasn't yet come to terms with the more chaotic aspects of that race.
"Would you like to go back there?" he asks suddenly.
