Dragoncrest Cliffs oh nostalgia, i don't need you anymore

Silkie can’t even rent what Tux already owns. He’s been home for nearly a month, but he still feels like he’s walking a fine, invisible line between brana and kru. “This time,” he retorts, and his low rumble is derision made solid in the fog that washes from his umber-smudged muzzle. “I should never have left in the first place.” The wounds on his face have healed over, and the scars are barely visible beneath the cream-and-caramel velveteen, but he still feels like everyone can see them. All it’ll take is one close look, and they’ll know how weak and afraid he was.