Flycatcher Downs if i ever leave, i could learn to miss you

his jaw opens, flexing and clenching—it clicks shut a moment later. eyes pinch at the corners, eyebrows drawn up and then down. before the incident, this would’ve been a normalcy that alamar could reject without second thought. now it lays down on the table before him with nowhere for the morales to run.
sure, he settles on, swallowing the wad that forms in his throat. except they likely aren’t on the same page, nor chapter, perhaps not even the same book. you should get some rest anyway. alamar beckons with his muzzle, pointing towards the spot he’d been laying in just prior—likely still warm. his own attention fixes on the weasel.