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

Megara rolls her eyes, an expression much younger than her advanced years. I am not going to argue semantics with you, she retorts, tail lashing once or twice behind her. That is the only thing to betray her frustration, for after a beat, a smile oozes over her muzzle once more. How long have you been home, Marruz?

He disappoints her. Perhaps it really is a design flaw, that he is marred not only in body but in mind and soul, as well. So rotten, so sharp. She has never cared for those with a chip on their shoulder; they are often the first to be cut down, and good on fate for doing so.