Blackfeather Woods from dancing mice to psychopaths

He did not like the mainland. It was too different from what he had known. Even though the young man was quite adaptable - even fashioned himself to be a well-rounded and accepting person - the strangeness of this place had him on edge. Leda would have easily picked up on his apprehension had he not been cautious about his own displays; thinking he was contained and controlled, that she was too busy worrying over her sickness as he did, Castor only let himself slide a few times. Usually it was at night while he watched her sleep. Sometimes, such as this moment wherein the siblings were crossing too close for his comfort near a residence, it was too hard to remain calm.

They roamed. Castor kept a careful eye upon his sister, always, and listened to her orders when he became too overwhelmed (which, the closer they got to the borderlands, the more common his reaction became). He knew it was his duty to protect her, to serve her. And when she looked to him Castor knew that a decision had to be made.

"Here. We shall stop here and... let us rest. You must relax, dear sister." He spoke to her as calmly as he could,  and urged her to stop by stepping in to her path. Briefly he comforted her with a touch of his nose upon her warm flesh, and then stepped beyond her, and called out with a song to any beasts present.