Grouse Thicket the foetus of a new day kicking

Lasher's response prompted him to open his mouth, but it only hung there for a moment, as he was undecided with his own tongue. When the dark man made his final comment though, Renoir's head lifted and he shook it, stumbling over his words some more.

Pa gen okenn, pa gen okenn, oh pa panse ke. mwen aksepte ou, No, it was not a matter of accepting anyone or anything. Perhaps he was a bit sheltered himself, but the thought that this fine man had anything to apologize for, or anything like that, made Renoir instantly regret saying anything.

He stepped closer to Lasher then, being quite forward in his defense of his leader - his friend. Li se jis ... mwen pa t'konnen m'te yon ^inomabl. And how he so regretted those words! What if his friend took them the wrong way? But he did not know how else to explain. Renoir bowed his head pathetically, and hoped his next words (quiet as they sounded) would explain.

Mwen gen yon frè ak sè , yon moun ki mwen menm entèdi yo pale sou sa. Sisley, the name caught in his teeth, and he looked forlorn upon the earth, but continued, his ears flattening and his demeanor becoming like a deflated balloon after a party. Yo te kenbe... Ak yon lòt. Epi yo te depòte . Evidently, some form of deviation was common to his bloodline; it was admitting it in himself which would be so difficult. He lifted his eyes to watched Lasher for a reaction, and added with his sparingly coarse english, The otha, who was with 'dem -- 'dey are gone. Permanently. 

Even though he was so far from home now, Renoir had been raised one way. He must be careful, he must deny it all.