Otatso Wetlands das himmlische leben

He could take a hint well enough. Though he wondered if Mahler's indifference towards his former pack had anything to do with his wounds, he would not pry further. In the absence of any real information, his gaze wandered for a moment; realizing he was staring far too boldly again, he averted his gaze a beat later. Then, a question— he paused, heart skipping. Did he need a new home? And what was that Mahler had called him— was it derogatory, or was it an endearment? He could not know.
Alarian took a moment to gather his wits again before he answered. His mind was scrambled; addled as he was by recent events, he was surprised he hadn't worked himself into a panic yet. Okay, okay— tell him of his... land? The pack, or the territory— or? Hell. Northeast of here; a place called Broken Boulder. We're the Bracken Sanctuary— a um... well, a sanctuary. We take in anyone who needs us, He decided not to mention his own rank, for now, continuing to speak mostly out of anxiety. We're right next to the Bracken Woods, so— Bracken, y'know. Broken Sanctuary doesn't sound great. Ah, shit, he was rambling. Worse than that, he was rambling like an idiot.
Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere other than right there. His chest tightened, eyes trained on the ground between his paws. He wanted to say something— 'sorry I'm an idiot, please don't hate me', maybe— but his throat felt constricted. This was by far the most stressful interaction of his week, he thought.