She raised a brow and smiled at him. "A King, huh?" She said with good humor. His family sounded nice and fanciful, like something out of a fairy tale. She wished she could tell a story to save her life; she had no penchant for such things, her mind too set on reality. Too much so, at times.

The name Bartos didn't ring a bell, though. She remembered vividly everyone she'd met, and she knew there were so many in the caves she just hadn't seen yet, so many occurances she wasn't there for, and if that meant she didn't know her new friend's da, that was fine, he could introduce her, right?

"Why don't we call your da' over, hm? And let him see the flower. He'll be really proud of you, I know it." She said softly.

"And..." She looked at his hooves, her mouth pouting a little in thought. "My partner, Tenn....he knows how to write. He's been teaching me really slowly. I'm not really good at it yet, though."

"Tell me...what's your family like?" She asked quietly, content to pet his head more. She liked his loud purring, and it comforted her deep in her bones. She had a sister but...that was different. She wanted to know what a family was like.

Hawthorne grinned back, pride puffing up his chest fur to a ridiculous degree, eye sparkly at the prospect of talking more about his perfect (in his opinion, anyway) father. "Y-yeah! He's a-a Noble K-king, like i-in the stories! H-he's nice and g-good and gentle a-and wise," the little buck reported, nodding sagely to his own words. His little play seemed to falter a bit at Cayenne's suggestion, a tiny frown gracing his muzzle, though his tail curled around his back leg thoughtfully.

"I-I dunno..." The prospect of making his dad proud made him sit a little straighter, rising up, floppy ears framing a contemplative mask. "M-maybe... i-it's just, see, miss Cayenne, h-he's got a h-hurt leg. I d-don't wanna make i-it any worse," Hawthorne finally spit out, avoiding his new friend's eyes. He didn't want to disappoint, but if the admittedly short journey would make his father's leg any worse...

The prospect of meeting someone who knew how to write made him perk back up, at least, a tiny smile accompanied by a soft swish of tail on stone. "H-he can write? Like, r-really write? That's so c-cool," the hybrid murmured, gaze turning starry-eyed and far away. The purr rumbling through his words grew heavier with each gentle touch from elegant hands - not like his own useless stumps - and the opportunity to talk more about his family let him relax, pushing into the petting.

"W-well, there's my da', a-and he r-raised me an' my s-sister! H-he's real s-strong and brave, a-and he knows a-all sorts a' stuff about the s-stars and r-rocks!" Flashing Cayenne a grin, Hawthorne curled up into a lump of sunset-shaded fluff, absently trading a pet for a soft rumble. "M-my sister's name i-is Wisteria, b-but we a-all call 'er Wist. She's the h-hero! Real f-fearless, a-and she can t-tell stories, too." His own tales tended to be stop-and-go, laboring things, until he'd silently begun to give up on reciting them, resorting to memorizing those others told.

"A-and my mum... she's t-the Lost Queen," Hawthorne mumbled, turning his head away from Cayenne to focus on the glowing flower, huffing, all twisted up inside just thinking about the enigma that was the doe. "Clover. I-I... da's real t-tense when she's a-around, and I g-guess I am t-too. I feel k-kinda bad, but..." A harsh breath rattled through the buck's nose. "H-have you ever had a f-feelin' in your g-gut, like s-somethin' bad could happen?" His golden eye flickered back towards the lemur. "Sometimes, e-everything is o-okay. S-she'll tell s-stories, and it's f-fun, but... then... I dunno. I get t-that feeling."

And every time he felt awful, like he was betraying his own mom, but if he was just being tense for no reason... why had Bartos kept her away?

"I-I think my mom's a s-star, but s-she's trapped s-somewhere else."

Hawthorne's ears twitched back, and he looked away again, fear threading his voice. "S-sometimes, I w-wonder if she's e-even here when she's here."

@Cayenne

Her hands flattered a little bit when he mentioned his father had a bad leg - no, no, no, don't lie to yourself Cayenne, don't tell yourself such a far-reaching lie that he's only befriending you for your skills, he doesn't even care, look at him, he's a child. He's worried for his da', stop trying to sour a good thing.

A friend and a flower.
Remember that, Cayenne, come on.

But now the image of this only being about a friend and a flower was ruined. She took her hands away, slowly, the good feeling curling up like a rapidly decaying seedling in her chest. She barely even heard his talk of his family, not until his soft rumbling purrs were traded for soft melancholy, and she only caught onto one word.

Clover.

The friend she had made and the friend she had failed, who had died and she heard not a single whisper of it, her feet never pulled in her direction, her death completely and utterly missed until she heard of it from the mad jowls of a dying monster.

The feeling was smashed now like a dropped teacup, shattering the peace she'd felt.

Clover was dead.
And this was the son she had left behind.

"That's because she's not," She said, her voice shaking, her hands shaking, her whole body shaking. "Clover was killed some cycles ago."