The harbor, more often than not this week, has been his hangout of choice. The aurora captivates him, and so many of the glittering stones rain down in places he can easily reach - or pull them closer with the branch he's been using if they hit the ice first and don't go flying off too far into the lake. For now, though, he's just taking a break, sitting back and watching the lights.

He turns at the sound of footsteps, and reaches out to take the stone. "A good one, hm?" Thankfully he has quite a few of those - little points of brilliance in a life that took too dark a turn too early, and ended with such violence.

It's Law, again. This particular memory has found its way to him before and that gives him hope. However these are created, maybe it's no coincidence that some of his fondest, most treasured moments are ones that have surfaced multiple times. This time he doesn't cry, thankfully, but instead smiles softly as the memory fades and he finds himself staring off into the light and shadows thrown by the aurora and the surrounding trees onto the glittering snow.

"He's a good kid," he says, voice surprisingly warm compared to how he often is here, so stoic and careful. "I hope he's doing all right on his own." He has to hope. The alternative isn't something he can stomach thinking about.