Waylon
He was standing looking at his citadel. His own mother had appeared next to him and chuckled. “Now, son, how did that happen?” She was smiling at all the deep purple-colored flowers that were now growing on the main turret of his citadel; it had come about just a few days ago.
He’d felt full amusement coming from Ryder, and he’d found himself chuckling for no given reason, knew she was amused at something going on within her world, it was good that she could be so happy, but she’d laughed quite a bit, and it affected him more than he’d expected it to.
Drayton had not only roused within him, but had come forth and wanted to seed the area around their citadel, felt happy and in the mood to change their lands. Waylon had allowed it, his Dryad was the least dominant of all his sides,
