Morningside Cuesta ouska

Etienne was a far better man than he. The seaborn moved to help Heda, gilt gaze soft with concern. Anselm noticed Heda’s pinched expression relented as she looked on Etienne, and felt a bitterness he’d never experienced such a look. For good reason — as it didn’t even occur to him to help her when she fell. 

Anselm’s justification was Heda had demonstrated his help was a burden; she didn’t want him — but now, standing here before them muddy and bedraggled, Heda didn’t look strong or independent. 

She looked run down and ragged. 

He ignored the possibility her condition was partially due to his hand. He reminded himself she’d chosen her bed and now she wallowed in it — but this wasn’t particularly fair, and he knew this. 

He stiffened, defecting the vague annoyance in her manner. His fur prickled when he learned Glaukos had hurt Druid too. Etienne was given another quiet glance to read what he thought of the situation.  

This was all more risk on his head than he wanted to bear, but Anselm knew his choices on the matter were narrowing by the second. Men like that don’t just leave. Anselm stated quietly, looking at Etienne now. There was a silent suggestion in Heda’s words that remained unspoken: just a coven of women, unprotected and vulnerable. Anselm’s skin crawled. He wanted to ask how badly Druid was hurt, but the annoyance in Heda’s demeanor inspired him to keep his mouth shut. For once.