Neverwinter Forest thanks for not killing me; here's a baby

A plump weasel bumped against Lotte’s soot-stockinged forelegs as she loped purposefully toward Neverwinter Forest; coincidentally, she set out for her journey just around the same time Marbas laid the unwanted gift of a stray whelp at the Frostfur patriarch’s massive paws. She arrived, feeling a sick and heavy sense of déjà vu at the sight of the broken creature she had worked so hard to repair, and her argent eyes filled with tears — but she knew the treelord to be a gracious beast. He had called for help for the little lion despite not knowing his name or story; if he used his fangs to sunder her work now, he had to have his reasons. Still, in caring for Marbas, Lotte had grown fond of him. He was a closed book to her, but she had enjoyed their time together nonetheless. Without crossing the borders, Lotte laid the long-bodied carcass at her paws and nudged it with her nose toward Scimitar. “Rakeet, great king,” she said, her rich, warm timbre made tired and thick with sadness, “you have not called for me, but still I come — I have hunted this for you and your kin. Please eat it in good health.”

Her eyes fell to Marbas, who lay bleeding and dying, and she sidestepped to set distance between herself and the mahogany-eyed wolf who had transgressed in some way against the wolves who had offered him succor. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but still she offered the forest wolf a smile to match her deep and respectful bow. “He was not my friend,” she intoned quietly, “but I was fond of him. May I bid him goodbye with a flower and a kiss? I can remove him from your borders if it is your will, treelord.”