Sleepy Fox Hollow sharp

diaspora. the name sounds as it belongs to a mountain pack, strange and hard. she tests out the word, mouthing it. moonshine is curious, but not quite enough to overcome her reservations and ask further questions of the girl. praimfaya's next question confuses her, the foreign word coupled with the title. "I don't have one," she says, though understanding dawns a second later. "well, I have a mother, but I didn't really want her—I came here alone." admitting that sends a little jolt of fear through her. should she really have admitted that? too late. 

her nervousness has her ramble, and she adds, "I don't - I had to leave the woods, but I don't want her, them, to know. they love it, blackfeather, and I, well, don't." guilt comes again. she shouldn't be feeling this way, she's wrong. she's also an idiot, for admitting this all to a stranger, and in such a jumble of words, too. still, it feels kind of good, and she can only swallow thickly, willing praimfaya to understand.

than, lamely, "what's diaspora like?"