Deepwood Weald don't tell me how we've grown

He would have been just another shadowy Melonii within the weald, had his foot not given him away. As it is, Megara strides toward him with interest, head cocked.

There had never been any overt disapproval of his. . .imperfection. After all, others had carried different marks. Still, it had always taken her aback that a child borne of her own littermate could bear any sort of imperfection whatsoever. Had the daedra not wished this one to live, and he had done so despite of it?

Marked forever by the gods. What a tragedy.

Marruz, she calls out, voice crooning but strong. It has been some time since she has seen her nephew, and were it not for the paw, she would have not known him from any other. She has no idea how he feels about her.