Blackfeather Woods bitter pill

He stays close to her. Even as she pulls away, he cannot help but close part of that gap so that he can still feel the heat of her skin. The sensation of cold air between them is not exactly welcome. And then she asks him an important question — how long. He doesn't know what to say beyond a small shrug of his bony shoulders.

I... I... his gaze went from being fixed and focused on her to drifting and foggy, and then he blinked and looked at her, shrugging again and shaking his head. He really didn't know. Is em-por-dend? Because to Mou, how he got here or how long he'd been here wasn't at all important. The fact was, he was here and she was here — and, he realized, he wanted to say so much more to her but found himself lacking.

He frowned then, and was silent.