Kintla Flatlands Scorn the Apricorn for it's Forlorn from the Tree

He bit his tongue at her response. Not hard enough to draw blood, but applied enough pressure to scold himself for this damned mission. It was straight failure from the beginning, and the dark prince was only adding more wood to the flames. But what if she held the water to finish this mess? Would she finish this silliness with an answer or a rejection to what was next to come clumsily from his lips?

“There’s been a missing wolf for a RedHawk pack. Some girl named Fire. Over there in the West of Teekon,” he dabbled the sentence to an inky close. Too much. He was telling too much. But it was contrary to the cause, as how would you search for someone without information? “Bright red girl.” Another inward groan strangled the majority of his lungs as he fought for the final sentence. “Could you assist in a search for her?” He silently inhaled, his lungs reaching for air as though he had drowned himself in a tar. It couldn’t be this hard to rewrite himself, could it?