Stone Circle le petit prince

He was immediately tongue-tied by her comments. According to the woman, her home was bursting with life, so perhaps it was wrong of him to impose; if they had so many wolves already, where could he fit in? It had been a whimsical question and he had not prepared a further response, so for a moment his mouth hinged and he looked very much like a chick begging for a bite to eat—but then he realized how that looked, and composed himself.

What do you like to do the most? she asked—meanwhile, he was trying to recite the name of this place inside his own head, cementing it there. Easthollow. Easthollow. Easthollow. It sounded quaint.

I am not sure what to say, he explained softly, letting a bit of worry crease his expression. My mother always said I was 'too soft for fighting, and too sad for hunting! The beasts would take one look and laugh instead of run!' As he mimicked his mother's voice, his own voice rose a few octaves and he took on a sharper expression; but that faded swiftly. Ah, but... I am fond of many things. The stars, the sea, watching the seasons change. I can recite for you the names of animals, and birds, and some of my favorite stars. 

But how was any of that useful? As soon as he concluded this explanation he felt his cheeks flush with warmth, and he looked from her rounded sides and open expression down to the dirt. I do not know if... there is any sort of place for someone like me.