Broken Antler Fen there's no place like home

Skwol nodded his head. He understood. He had never felt the choke of a rope around his neck but he had felt that the devils stole his freedom when they made it so treacherous to move around. Then they took from him his heart and his future and made it so that he could not bear the rugged slopes he was born on or the meandering rivers below them; so that he could not stand the hurt. They took everything he knew and more than he would have the chance to know.

"How far away?" He asked, his question more ambiguous than he intended as his thoughts were interrupted by the glare of flesh where the rope had been. "The devils, I mean." His eyes scrutinized the wound from where he stood. It appeared neither deep nor threatening. Sore, raw, in need of a tender tongue at least, and a bit of medicine would not hurt, but he did not think it would trouble her much.

His mind shifted back to the subject at hand and his gaze lifted to the girl's face. Consternation was subtle but nonetheless present in the tautness of his mouth and the uncertain splay of his ears. The white wolf would not hesitate to press further south if he had to in search of some respite from the two-legged menaces.