Silvertip Mountain holding on to what i can't have

nooo its just funny, same wavelength

The disappointment is not hard to read, though Poet does not find herself troubled by it. She knows the boy's affection for Phocion, and while she does not know much about how they came to travel together, she's gathered they care deeply for each other. Poet, on the other hand, is still an unknown (at least to Cortland). 

He can't speak. The strangled noises are worrisome: she doesn't know if he's damaged his vocal chords or if it is the result of a head injury. She's met wolves in the past that lost speech or visual function from head injuries, something there is little she can do for. Garlic and raspberry cannot heal an injured brain. She doesn't voice her concerns, not wishing to worry Cortland when he's already surely suffering. She also doesn't pick up on his wordless attempts at question, distracted as she is thinking, until he takes an interest in her herbs.

"Ah," she says, and smiles, "that's yarrow. It helps stave off infection and lessens pain. Be careful not to swallow it, as it can also induce vomiting." Which would be quite unpleasant, given the state of his healing tongue, she imagines. Poet sits then, her tail curling around her toe-tips. "I've also brought garlic, which works similarly to yarrow, lavender, which eases anxiety, and rose, which helps with inflammation." She smiles gently at him, allowing him to examine all the herbs if he wants, encouraging his curiosity. Better to keep him distracted that way, she thinks.