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

Engel began to apologize, and turn away, and the growl returned to his throat. No. They would get to the bottom of this. "Stay, Engel," he commanded, in tones heavier than his small frame would suggest. It was only in the silence after his order that he heard another tiny "Sorry," and his ears pricked--and then he looked wildly at Cortland, eyes large and blue as robin's eggs.

"Cortland!" Phocion gasped, thoroughly bewildered at hearing words from the Mayfair for the first time in--what, a moon? Two? It felt like forever, and suddenly, his world revolved around those two hushed syllables. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he blinked them hastily away, Cortland a gold blur in his vision. "Cortland. My god. Don't be sorry. Don't be--"

He looked over at Engel, then, swallowing as he tried to keep his emotions at bay. "You are not off the hook," he said firmly, though there was a quaver in his voice. "What did you do to him?" Whatever it was, it had drawn speech from Cortland's maw--and while Engel would surely suffer the consequences of any wrongdoing, Phocion supposed he must be grateful to the red man, in some small way.