Fairspell Meadow shed every skin that no longer fits

scarab accepts the woman's condolences with a solemn look that quickly becomes forlorn. he allows the reality of his situation and what has likely befallen his family to settle in. 'curse' or not, speaking it aloud has forced it into a perspective for scarab that he cannot deny. perhaps another would keep going: would not stop scouring the wilds until he found them ...or until he didn't. but scarab was tired and sore and very much travel weary. he was in no condition to tear apart the wilds root by root looking for the sun and stars of his life — and this woman, whom has been nothing but kind to him is offering him a place to stay.

until his wounds heal he is not going to be much help to the pack, admittedly, and yet still she offers. her selflessness moves him in a way that no much has. his ears taper back slightly in thought, fluttering against his skull before cupping forward. he discreetly presses his nose briefly to his petrified sandpiper, weighing the gravity of it despite that he already knows his answer. i do, scarab says softly. when i'm strong enough i'll help in any way i can. he promises.

thank you. the words push from betwixt his lips, choked with the emotion he tries to decipher: gratitude mainly, relief that he will not have to keep trudging thru alone.