She was the smallest, but not often the quietest. Yet she strolled silently, cautiously, alarmed and all at once elated to be alive. “Most Elderly?” Her voice light, but shaky, ever hopeful she’d get a reply. Though Littlest One didn’t call out too loud, frightened that she might shattered the peace of the forest—that something far beyond her vision would awaken in the dark and surge forth to seize her. It was troublesome to walk soft, though she attempted as she ambled across the scattered dry leaves at her feet, the crunching beneath inevitable with the way the pixie limped from her broken wing—a wound hindleg that she tucked close to her body.

Her heart fluttered within the confines of her chest, and she did an uneasy turn to face the strange voice. It was not Most Elderly, and hopeful Littlest peered around him to see if he was escorting her grandfather along. But the white figure stood stark and alone in the dark imprisonment of the forest, and disappointed bowed her head. Skirting back a few light hobbled steps, sullen and apprehensive, so enraptured in his quick arrival that she did not look and see the log behind her—and stumbled, yelping as her tender appendage brushed against it’s bark. Fallen, she huddled close to the ground in a defensive curl, and stuck her tail in her mouth.

Despite the way she shrunk from him, still he came closer and she watched him with widening eyes. After a moment’s pause, she believed his concern to be genuine, and she glanced down at her ripped flesh of the leg that was stretching out awkwardly from the side. Littlest nibbled at the hairs she could reach from her tail, falling back into old bad habits and almost wishing now that Most Elderly would appear to gently scold her. She attempted to murmur around her chewing, but it was unclear, and with hesitance she openly her maw fully, “No, I don’t think.” She began, and attempting to inch her leg up, to which it responded without too much pain, “I fell.” She explained, sheepishly folding her ears back.

His question prompted her to think on the injury and the events had come to pass in the brief time she’d been in the Wilds. Moving her muzzle in a silent chattering, to bring the words up slowly, she shook her head, “Not long. I think.” How long was too long? Would there be something wrong with her leg permanently? She feared the worse now, but pressed herself to continue, “Just… tonight. Is it night?” Is was hard to tell, the forest was so very dark—certainly though she could barely make out the sky, the sun could not be so subdue, it was still only early autumn. She struggled to decipher how much time had passed, having no knowledge of counting minutes or hours. “Have you seen a silver wolf, with a black collar? He fell with me.” Desperate to hear some news of her grandfather.

A small wrinkle of worry creased her brow at the disappointing news, only focusing on the pale stranger again when his question induce her to. “Are you a healer?” She asked curiously, her ears swinging forward; but nonetheless straightened herself, unfolding so that she could pull herself back up and wobble again onto three legs to give him a clear view of all sides. The fur and skin had been scrapped away some, typical for falling from the height she had, but otherwise had stopped bleeding and was in the process of scabbing. If she knew better than she might have suggested she’d twisted something on the way down, but she couldn’t imagine what had happened. “Do you think I’ll heal on my own?” She added, turning her muzzle away from him to peer down at her lifted leg, “Should I do something special?” Most Elderly would have known what to do, but sadly he was not here to guide her, so she stuck her questions on the stranger instead.