Honeyed Pasture take off all the thoughts of what we've been

By the coast. He registered it barely, but the information wasn't quite important to him. Cortland gestured with his muzzle in the direction of the looming figure of Silvertip Mountain, thinking then that this conversation was boring. One-sided conversations typically were, though— he never had this problem with Phocion. It was worth noting, he thought, whatever it meant.
Again his thoughts had drifted back to the white priest. The Mayfair struggled to pull himself back to present, finding himself again fixing on the stranger's fur color in the next beat. He missed Mona. The thought ached quite suddenly and fiercely. He wasn't quite sure where it had come from, but now he could focus on little but the color red.