Bramblepoint the devil's right there in the details

She does know him. Or a piece of him that he's lost — either way, he needed to know more. But to do that he needed to be somewhere safe and this place, this forest so far removed from his forest, is not safe.

He looks right at her when he says, You hurt, I h, h... hell... I ged for you, but that isn't clear. He'll get her something, sure, but how does he know if she'll trust him? They are strangers to one another. He will try to appeal to whatever lingering goodness she feels for him (not aware that it has almost entirely evaporated).

Before she could give him any response, he was off - slinking in the dark, zeroed-in on the slightly wilted pink plant. When he returns, he's cautious in his approach but draws up to her all the same, offering the flowers which he has clutched between his teeth, stems protruding between his teeth like hay stalks. Around this bundle he murmurs, If fren... If real fren, trus' me. Feel bedda. He does want her to feel good, to not hurt. Mou is like that. Maybe this Screech person was a hateful creature, he doesn't know - but not him. Not Mou. Mou 'es goot pershen.

Please, believe me, his face said.

Take her, the voice demands deep inside.