Yesterday, late afternoon

[theravenboy]

[After this]

Bran is sprawled on his bed, white hair tangled in his face, sound asleep. He is still wearing the torn sweater and jeans, although his shoes lie unceremoniously in the middle of the floor. The horn, dented and scratched, rests on the bed near Bran's right hand.

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[owendavies.livejournal.com]

The kitchen and parlor are empty when Owen comes home; there is no sign of Bran at all, not even a clean teacup in the dishboard. Owen stands still in the kitchen for a moment. Perhaps he is praying.

Slowly, Owen climbs the stairs.

The door to Bran's room is open; Owen looks in. When he sees Bran sleeping, he lets out a long breath of release.

Then Owen notices the ripped sweater and the battered, gleaming, unfamiliar horn.

Silently, Owen goes downstairs to make a pot of tea.

[theravenboy]

Bran sleeps on, undisturbed.

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

Sometime later that night, Owen comes in to spread a blanket over his son.

[theravenboy]

Bran wakes in the morning to find the blanket wrapped around him.