Whitefish River Someone Purer

I love your description of Vehiron. It's spot on. <3

The truth was no less glaring or hurtful the more one looked at it. Perhaps in time that pain would diminish. Perhaps that void known as truth becomes inundated with loved ones, with adversaries, with memories. But who could say for certainty, that that was a way to subsist? One could not live in the maybe, only in the now. Wolves were not free of this. No one was. Every living thing with a conscious suffered through it. Many let it run their lives. Would Tuwawi let it control her, or would she break free from this viscous cycle?            Once their eyes met, he could perceive this debilitation. Just not the full brunt of it. He could also see she was so very tired. Her lids drooped, and the cloak of fire she bore was lacking in vivacity. Even her discernments – usually lucent and expressive, in his mind's eye – were much grayer than usual. It was like staring at a retreating storm. He drew closer as she tiredly elicited him, stopping until he could see the fine hairs framing her face.            “You need sleep,” he quietly murmured. A simple observation, one that required solving. He turned away from her, wordlessly beckoning her with a flick of his tail. Come, came his soundless appeal, slipping through the reeds with all the grace of a serpent. He entered the compact forestry that cupped the watercourse, traveling a ways before stopping and locking eyes with her once again. He resigned in a patch of good-smelling herbs, gesturing the phoenix to come join him. “Lay your head to rest. I will keep watch.”