Sequoia Coast Let's Burn All The Bridges

deirdre listened raptly to the other, able to depict the weasel noises and translate some of them to her own tongue as she had spoken with river-otters in need, and sometimes the common mink. his words were accented and spoken in a unique dialect to his breed, and deirdre was able to deduce what it was he asked of her. 

i will not kill you, came her own soft-spoken words, her ears flattening atop her head. you are under my protection until you are well again. even then, you may stay with me; that will be up to you, the young witch hummed. it seemed he had accepted her offer as he rolled over, and deirdre forewarned him: this may pain you, some, as we move. i fear you have broken a leg... she secured him in her mouth like a mother would her cub, but her teeth were inexpert at the task. at the very least she truly was gentle--she would not maim or wound him, though perhaps he would be uncomfortable for the journey. he was held firmly enough so that the broken area would not jostle aggressively as she carried him. deirdre turned and headed toward the territory of donnelaith, where she would care for him.