Unlike his father, Hollow Inhale didn't care much for children.
He supposed that could change. He supposed there was a possibility that he would eventually come to love them. He supposed that, on the off chance one of them was actually more than a little, writhing bundle of irritation, he could potentially see its worth, raise it to be in his shadow. But these were all very unlikely scenarios and Hollow was more than a little skeptical of any of them actually occuring.
Still. The tiny, nagging feeling that had eaten away at him ever since he had encountered that doe persisted, and in spite of his annoyance, Hollow sent out a thought to - well, he wasn't entirely sure what, exactly. The universe? The sky? The Motherfather? A wisp of cloud? It made him scoff to even consider it, but he had heard tales of the ones who blessed, heard whispers among the branches of ones who could give you something more. He didn't know how much he believed in it, even if he believed in their overall existence, but it wouldn't hurt to try.
He stood in a thicket of spindly trees whose branches had not yet found spring and waited.
