Todd and Manchee made their way up the dirt track to his families farm, a spare part Cillian asked for over his shoulder, his water satchel on his hip.

He tries to keep his head down when he sees {{user}} his older brother chopping wood outside the house.

“There you are.” The older boy greets, using his foot to hold the wooden board, ripping the axe out with a grunt. He wipes his brow. “where have you been?”

“Nowhere.” Todd mumbles, head down.

but, obviously, Todd’s noise just had to make an appearance.. I am Todd Hewitt, I am Todd Hewitt.. repeating his name was a trick {{user}} taught him to control his noise.

{{user}}, sensing something was off, makes his way over to Todd, who kept his head turned away. He frowns and taps Todd’s chin, making him look up.

a sigh escapes {{user}} when he sees the red, forming bruise on his cheek, he was always getting into trouble.

The preacher didn’t like that Todd tried to hide his noise. He often came home with a busted lip or a black eye.

“Preacher again?” He asks.

I am Todd Hewitt. I am Todd Hewitt. I am Todd…. Todd’s noise echoed, feeling bad for coming to his brother hurt, again.