Hideaway Strath And on most of the days we were searching for ways

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She disappeared for a bit and Declan waits idly, letting out a low scoff that is followed by a grunt as he waits. The feral commander has never been a very patient beast and this waiting is near enough to drive him stir crazy. He rises to his paws the moment August returns with her medicines and he stares at them with unveiled disdain as she approaches him. His little mouse lays them out before him and nudges the poppy towards him. Feral eyes search her for any signs that it is poison — she is awfully nervous but this is nothing particularly new to Declan for she is always fidgety around him — before he cautiously sniffs at it. He is no medic and knows no words for these flowers, nor their purpose. He takes pain like a stone and usually refuses all medicinal aid unless it is Conan that brings it to him. Yet, his flirtatious brother is no where to be found and his little mouse is here and offering him numbness and the ability to stop infection. To eat these things she offers him is a sign of trust the feral Commander is not quite so sure that he is willing to give her. “Little mouse,” The croon spills forth from his lips in his guttural voice as he eats the poppy seed and then the root she offers him. “If you poison me I will know.” The threat hangs idly and sinister in the air between them as he moves to the badger and tears off a chunk, chews the tough gristle and tender, succulent meat before he swallows — an attempt to wash down the medicines she offers him before he moves closer to her, aiming to brush his body against hers a low rumble brewing deep in his chest like the thunder of a distant storm.

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