Wapun Meadow pasta is an antidepressant

The sightless side of her wan face was nestled into the timbery crook, where Evergreen’s neck spilled out into broad shoulders. Blood at her brow now sloughed in a creep when she raised her head, heard her name. Cheek matted with red, disheveled by a doze, she looked back into the dark, patient face.

Not him. Not Vonn, either. But he was just as much of a behemoth, and she was draped along him like down; deceitfully-long legs touching her toes to Evergreen’s elbows and hocks. Her tail, once so feathery with gaiety, now veiled over the cocoa of his. 

Aure, overall, was slow to register his words into her chaos-addled mind. Almost where ... ? Several heartbeats passed before— oh. Her nod was numb, and her words came off thick from a foreign tongue, ”... Okay.” 

She was so tired of crying; of being saved and tended to and pored over. She was so exhausted of being asked after and concerned of. Still, the stupid tears came once more, in hushed hitches of humiliation and desolation. These emotions were uncaring of whether she wanted to, as her mind snarled, Get a godsdamned grip! or not. Aure only wept more, and hated that Evergreen — so undeserving of this — had to be drowned in her tears. 

By the time she’d responded, she’d pressed herself back into the chocolatey ruff, where the salt of her grief ran freely. Even then, though, she tried to relate, ”You didn’t need to save me, E-Evergreen. But you did.”