Sun Mote Copse beware the jubjub bird, and shun

Sugar stilled at his answer, lips pulling tight into a little frown beneath a furrowed brow. "Kin I help?" she wondered, the real question being, How can I help? She gazed up at him, her eyes eerily dark but soulful. She didn't know her Uncle Colt well—at least, not as well as those who lived with her—but she cared about him, nonetheless, in her youthful way. And it disturbed her that he should be in pain, no matter the measure. Sugar wanted to make it go away, just like the smell that reminded her of carrion.