His Ma always told him he was different. "Gentle," she'd add, her eyes focusing on something distant. Then, with a warm smile, she'd tap him on the nose. He would grin, leaking milk down his chin before shoveling the next pile of Cheerios into his mouth. Then, she stopped telling him that. Stopped saying much of anything, on account of not being around anymore. He got along anyway, alone. Just him, his wood carvings, and his meds.

His name was Lawson Detierre. Sounds fancy, but most people in town just called him Law. Most of the odd creatures, gods, and demons that seemed drawn to him called him that, too.

The blue alicorn and the orange pony with the hat mostly just called him 'friend', though.