Whitefish River if the men find out we can shapeshift, they’re going to tell the church

Saarthal offers reassuring words—you don’t know that—and she droops her gaze, staring at the ground as she’s lectured of what is clearly the obvious solution. Though her excuse had been meant to hide the true reason for the awkwardness, it is still a concern she has.

What if, what if, what if…

She licks her lips and frowns, forcing her gaze up as her friend offers her help in a different way. Mallaidh shakes her head and swallows the lump in her throat, inhaling a deep breath and trying to brush it off as best she can. She’s meant for great things, her mother said, fit for a crown. Varinril put her trust in her to keep her, all of them, safe, and she’s clearly failed.

“I’m not mad at you,” she insists. Is she? She doesn’t have the answer for it herself but knows it’s not exact. And if Saarthal knows something’s up, does she know she’d there? And if not, how is she to respond? Is this how Blixen felt? Her stomach churns as it lashes, ugly and hungry, but she closes her eyes and takes a step close so her nose bumps against the other and turning back, pausing when she catches a glimpse of @Max in the distance. She doesn’t move to retrieve her, and refocuses her attention on Saarthal. “Sometimes I get really dizzy and I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest. Everything feels out of control and I… just feel like it’s coming. I wake up worried. I go to sleep worried. I…” she swallows again, with difficulty this time, and slumps back to her rear.