Cedar Sweep doesn't matter if you don't wanna play my [ game ]

he has got to stop these solo excursions to the sweep. they were problematic enough before, when mato expressly forbid leaving the borders alone and he did it anyway, and now he's morwinyon. but sometimes the cloud of doubt and anxiety perpetually on his tail overtakes him, and he wakes up with breath caught in his throat, choking on his own insecurity, and he has to walk to clear his head.

he makes a small, sad shape in the snow, his delicate lines pulled inward. delight's never been the type to repress how he feels, despite hiding it under seven discrete layers of sulk and pomp - but he has all these núro in his care, now. they're looking to him to keep them safe through winter. he can't let tindómë break down around them with burke's dying breaths. he can't let mato down like that.

so he ignores the chill and keeps his moon-soft eyes firmly on his feet, so in his head he misses the scent of the girl and her kill until he's nearly on top of them. with a startled yip he stumbles back, fur fluffed up like a surprised cat, stuttering "s-sorry!"