Blacktail Deer Plateau sick love is my modern cliche

she spoke with some pique in her tone, and he glanced over in surprise to her, letting out a ragged cough as he opened his mouth to speak. "not meant to baby you," he rumbled. "both my family and good friends treasured stories. we'd stay up all night and exchange them, especially when we weren't feeling good."

he felt a small pang at the memories his words brought to the surface. long days and longer evenings curled around each other, murmuring the tales of their pasts. stories of bravery and humor, of love and heartbreak. each word shaping who you were and who you would become. to tell a story was to share your heart; to hear a story was to know someone else's.

aditya did have to grudgingly admit to himself that he treated easy younger than her age suggested. grayday's younger litter had grown up before his eyes, and fast, at that. and after all, hadn't he had to grow up fast, too, being alone as he was? he supposed it would be a wound to his pride if someone had tried to baby him.

"sorry, i didn't mean to offend," he added hoarsely, looking back forward again. "we can talk about whatever you like. it doesn't have to be stories."