Blackbeak Bluff who alone but he scapegraced and goated me?

No worries! I've been terrible and slow still in any case myself, erf... muttermuttermutter RL, ugh. But oh well...c'est la vie sometimes!  :/

Driftwood caught his tongue and waited in trepidation with bated breath for Erzulie's reply. His ears pricked, then folded indecisively back, then perked back up again, their acrobatics reflecting his inner turmoil. He wasn't certain just what answer it was he was really hoping to hear, but as it turned out, the main emotion echoing inside a sudden hollow emptiness within him when he heard Erzulie respond was... disappointment, intermingled with a touch of numbness and a growing sense of the futility of even asking. His tail and whiskers both drooped, but he feebly tried to summon up a brave smile nonetheless.

A whole fresh churning of emotions started boiling within him, however, as he considered now how he could answer her question. How on earth could he boil the lovely Moorhen down to just a few paltry words? It seemed so dry, so clinical, so completely unable to encompass the creature he still held tight in a cherished corner of his mind...but, well, all that probably wasn't the sort of deep, spiritually resonating take that Erzulie was looking for, here, admittedly. Oh. Er, uh...Moorhen is...um, was ...a packmate of mine. And then Driftwood stopped, overwhelmed by the task of trying to rein in his feelings and wrap some sort of neat descriptive package around them. She's, uh... got markings... here? He halfheartedly pointed his nose somewhere in the vague direction of his own ribcage. Then he tried to swallow away the sudden lump in his throat as he stood there hesitating, and his eyes cast themselves down to the dirt.