"Mother," Milo said, walking quickly to kneel at the feet of the old woman. The pile of cedar shavings at her feet had been pushed to the side and the half-finished carving of Milo's deceased brother was still clutched firmly in her hands, but he barely noticed either of those things as he reached into his tunic to retrieve a small wooden box covered in intricate carvings of flowers and butterflies.
"This… this is…" Old Nan said, reaching out with trembling fingers to take the small wooden box. One of the feet on the left side had snapped off and the finish had been ruined by ash, but the rest of the box was in remarkably good condition.
"Father," she whispered as her claws traced the delicate carvings of moonflowers. They were her mother's favorite along with the butterflies that clustered around them in the spring. The feelings of love and affection he'd poured into each scrape and gouge could easily be felt as she turned the box over in her hands.
