Totoka River cherry soul

Driftwood caught his breath and felt his heart thundering in his chest as he spotted the smoldering anger burning deep in Moorhen's exotic dark red eyes. Was the fire about to spread and consume him along with the rest of the landscape around them, like a lightning-struck forest fire gone out of control? Driftwood swallowed hard and tried to shove his fanciful mental imagery down deep enough inside himself that it would stay good and buried. Moorhen's patience was obviously stretched plenty thin enough today without having to deal with any additional such nonsense from him.

I would, said Driftwood unhesitatingly, though he quickly and fumblingly amended it in a dwindling voice with, I—I would fight for you that is, that is...if you wanted me to. Oh who the hell was he kidding. Like he knew the first thing about fighting anyway. Like Moorhen would ever want a cowering furball like he was presenting now to be some sort of defender of her person or honor or anything. ...He had no real concept of the notions that were occurring to Moorhen herself in this moment: he was too busy worrying about just how pathetic and unlikeable a picture he was presenting. And a creeping little whisper inside him was wondering if there was some other aspect he ought to try and buck up and present that Moorhen would find more likeable. But—no, he'd better not push it any further, not unless he really did want to get himself kicked out of Undersea. She was already angry enough! He didn't need to make another misstep that would add more fuel to the fire.

Besides, Moorhen made it pretty clear in short order exactly what he should do. I— oh. O-o-kay, he managed, his throat tight, his tail clenching itself tight to his rump and curling despondently under. Of course, Moorhen, he near-whispered, and cringingly fled. He didn't know what to do with the overwhelming storm of emotions that chased inescapably after him no matter how much he stretched his strides, except to curse himself for a fool with every lengthening step. He ran until he was out of her sight, but then his footsteps unwittingly slowed. He paused for a moment as his pawpads started to encounter more sand than gravel underneath them. He stood there with one foot irresolutely raised and lifted his nose to take a last deep whiff of Moorhen's inexplicable scent, fearing somewhere deep down inside him that this could very well be the last time he ever smelt it. He was troubled to find himself increasingly uncertain if he could handle that. Just how angry was Moorhen? Might she fume enough to decide to change her mind and stay away for good? And what, if anything, could Driftwood do about any of it if so—besides obey and keep his paws crossed and hope? His head drooped in defeat along with his tail. Go home, Driftwood. His heart and feet both dragged as he turned and trooped obediently island-ward, across the land bridge. Go home and STAY there. He heaved a leaden sigh and fervently prayed that Moorhen really meant it when she said she would come back, and soon. Where was she going so all of a sudden and in such a hurry, anyway, and why did she have to insist that he stay behind, when wolves that meant her ill were lurking out there somewhere in the nebulous wilds of the mainland?