Silvertip Mountain and there's a million things i haven't done

His face contorted in agonized puzzlement as Cortland tried to speak. . .but failed. Were his injuries worse than what was on the surface? Where were the words that the boy so often held back--but Phocion knew he was capable of spilling? Especially now, after such a great trauma!

"Shhh," the priest whispered, running his tongue gently along the golden ears as Cortland winced with pain. "Lay down. You don't have to get up." He settled down next to his friend, tail entwined with the other's. He looked into the silver gaze, searching for answers. He found nothing but confusion and hurt.

"It's all right. You're home now," Phocion soothed, blinking gently. "Cortland. . .you're safe, with me." A terrible idea was starting to bloom in his mind, a hypothesis for all of it, but he didn't want to voice it aloud; to do so was likely to agitate the boy further, and all the Mayfair needed now was care and rest. Any questions could be resolved when he had recovered further.