The Sentinels i like gypsy moths and radio talk

his voice, hark! howled the trees; and she did, and deirdre was frozen as the breath was stolen from her. she had joined in his song once, but she could not do so now as her legs possessed her being. the cub moved in his direction, flowers and their petals flying helter-skelter off of her shoulders (that her dear owl instructor had made her) as she ran. tachyon! deirdre cried into the air, her emerald eyes glowing with happiness renewed. but as she looked to tachyon and noted his appearance, her features crumpled. no! she thought of the white ogre, the monstrous woman who had assaulted her, as she looked at maimed hamstring. deirdre knew only the most minor of pain in comparison to the wound he bore, and she gasped. it truly hurt her heart to see the blood, and the soft girl wilted at the sight of it. were it possible, her color would melt into one of transparency with her present pallor. but her love for tachyon conquered her fear of the scarlet beads that flecked his furs, and she drew nearer before she looked to emaleth. i... i can clean this! get eilidh, her tone lacked both command and inflection, and she nearly swayed where she stood, but her intent to stay was clear. her mind was so frazzled she did not even think of calling for eilidh, but this was urgent. deirdre felt as though she could smell the damage, though it was likely the metallic stink of blood from one she loved so dearly. she neared his side, looking at her crumpled friend, and any accusations of his leaving her had long since died. she had been worried, so worried! but he was here, and hurt, and whoever had done this to him... these were questions she did not think to ask. would it hurt badly if i cleaned it??? she asked his permission, his consent. now, she only wanted to help, and to take away the hurt as he had helped do for her.