Lost Creek Hollow the days are muted

Pippin, for all the long months that he did not speak – his eyes wanted to skirt around the Creek, to note that this was truly where his last happy memories were, and where his voice had essentially died, but he understood words. Others had taken him for dumb – he had never been stupid (spare for the day his teeth had made moves to Tambourine’s own life) but he had held himself in his own isolation. Larkpsur had understood this – perhaps she had been the only one to do so.
 
The sylph-like creature was confused by his words, and he felt a frown pull at his golden features. Did he need to spell out to her that she could take his life, now? He considered Tavi’s lingering jaws – she had been so close, and he firmly believed she had likely taken his mother’s life after. Then he considered the strange pair that had found them – they had mentioned killing him. They had kept him against his will. Kindness, as much as they had tried to express it, did not seem to push through the young wolf’s barrier, and he felt his amber eyes slide shut for a moment. “I’m r-r-ready for it to e-end,” he spoke again, hearing the tremor in his voice and knowing that not just fear added to it.