Wild Berry Meadow the world, the war, will wait, but morpheus knows no mercy

Szymon didn’t need to know why Doe had staked such a huge claim on this child; he didn’t care what her motives had been or who Riverbone was or if this tiny girl was truly his daughter. Doe wanted her and he would ensure that she kept her. Carefully, slowly, because his voice wanted badly to stammer and stutter and he knew he needed to present himself as a stronger creature, “Doe,” he intoned quietly, his bass timbre hushed and reverent. There was wonder in her voice as much as worry and he didn’t know how to appropriately respond; he licked his lips anxiously, trying again to still the racing of his heart. “She is yours, my l-lovely girl,” is what he eventually went with, “and Skellige and h-his warhounds will p-protect and raise her w-with you — I most f-fiercely of all.” Though Szymon would feel immeasurably more comfortable in the protected territory, he was content to stay here, reassuring his Chosen One and their frail ward as long as necessary. “I will walk with you until the b-bay comes into v-view,” he said, “and then I will go further s-south for supplies.” Already his subservient mind was hatching plans about food, toys, and items of recovery for the stingers that he could see tangled in Doe’s fur. “Rest until then,” he told her gently.