Fairspell Meadow I told the witchdoctor

She did not respond, so he assumed that she was very adamant in her silence, or truly mute. It was within his nature to be skeptical — he rejected their gods, but he was a child of the Melonii, followers of Mephala above all. He knew what he lacked in terms of physical signs. It was both a good and a bad thing. His bronze fur and orange eyes were markers of his less muddled genes. Not that he was insinuating that she was a lesser being because of her genetics. He wouldn't do that. I know I don't look like it, He flicked his tail, emphasizing the brightness of his fur color in contrast with her own. But I am Melonii. He looked down at her, own raven fur. By blood at the very least, Potema was my mother. His chosen tense gave him pause. How was she? Was she still alive? Had she succumbed to the thick fog of opiates, gliding into nothingness, or had her death been violent? Or did she just leave? Do you know her? Is she still alive? He asked, but he didn't know how he could glean a response from her silence.