Blackfeather Woods far away across the field

there is no change in his contenance, but his judgement is sustained. she asks more questions, but offers too more information, the later which he seizes and places something amidst his hoard of knowledge, to be analyzed later. he's still a moment, and then he moves his head down to touch the jimson weed again, holding his muzzle there a long moment before withdrawing. his eyelids move slowly, almost robotically over his eyeballs, as if blinking is something he has to remember to do.