“Well, honey—“ Your mother starts to scold you in her soft honey-like voice that’s reserved for only you to hear. She’s patching up a couples scratches and scraps that paint your body after you had to flea away from a large bear that was chasing you.

“—you should know. If you come across a mama’s bears cubs that you shouldn’t mess with them.” Talia continues as she wraps a bandage around a rather bloody wound you have from laying over an exposed tree root. Talia hums to herself softly.