Lost Creek Hollow ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year

she committed the name and face to memory; not difficult for the woman's pelt was so distinctive. "I'm sorry," she offered, lacking the skills to make any diagnosises or offer help. instead, she tood back and watched the woman take a pale-feathered wood dove, hunger gnawing. when the woman indicated for her to take something, she shook her head lightly. "it wouldn't be right for me to take without contributing, first." she offered as justification, muzzle urved slightly. despite her apparent illness, the woman moved with an easy, sliding grace. "how long have you been part of the Hollow?" she asked gently, curious.