Jade Fern Grove who cut off their tails with a carving knife

His ear turned backward, catching the sound of paws across the forest floor as debris was shuffled and twigs bent and cracked. His other senses were sharpening, compensating for the one he had loss. Even those that were not so prominent, not so commonly thought of, senses he could not describe like the awareness of the objects around him. He was beginning to feel in an enhanced way, but he still had so much adapting to do.

"I know," he answered quietly. He knew her voice, her smell, and he would in time learn their gaits. He did not lift his head nor turn to face her; neither of these mattered now when you could not see. His muzzle brushed aside a tall fern, and beneath it he discovered a small patch of mint. He brushed the black leather of his nose across it, featherlight in his touch, but found it was not suitable for picking. It was yet too young. "I'm fine," he answered. "What are you up to?"