Fox's Glade a poem in which i am neither a monster nor a martyr

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okay but lowkey i love it.  do you want to wrap up here and then get the easthollow thread rolling?

her ears perk up at her new name, and she offers a soft, full-body wag as the syllables roll, clunky from his forign tongue.  yet still, she likes it! hella.

and then something she is not so keen on.  what does this dude mean, we are going to talk to the leader?  surely he understands now that she is almost entirely nonverbal.  there are always so many thoughts buzzing in her brain that when she tries to speak it's difficult and disjointed.

but, she supposes, if she must.  she waits for him to lead the way and dips her head at him.  she supposes, of course, that she will follow him.