The Sentinels wargemont

She felt things as he did, an untempered soul with great feeling for all things. Though he had been molded to suit his father's court, this child was still a wild thing, free to do as she wished in this wilderness. Renoir found himself feeling envious of her; yet he squashed that as he listened. So far this place, this Donnelaith, proved to be an open and accepting place. Perhaps he would learn to accept himself here for who he truly was. For now, he focused on the girl.

Nou pral kòmanse kounye-a, lè sa-a ! Ann jwenn sa ki rete nan zanmi ou yo. petèt nou ka pote yo tounen. He would say anything to make her smile, to bring that sadness out of her. But he knew it would be difficult. Maybe even impossible? What destruction these little beasts wrought - yet maybe they could find something, anything, to start the process anew.

Renoir thought of all the places where they could find things untouched by the bugs, and began to move through the forest, looking for any sheltered spot that could have gone overlooked. At the very least they could find seeds, and they could tend the garden together.