Swiftcurrent Creek pont neuf

He hadn't meant to say goodbye, or to make her leave, but his floundering did the trick. She muttered some things extra before turning to go, and he would not stop her - assuming she had places to be, things to do (such as dying because whY kat). Renoir did not fret over her for long. He did not even watch her depart, and simply resumed his foray through the thistle patch and beyond, sniffing at whatever flowers he had found. Maybe he'd see her again one day (not), and they could fumble some more across the divide of languages.