Sawtooth Spire i'm bound by the feeling that's so easy to fake

As flowers rained down on the cherub, she seemed to dance in place. Stag was caught in that moment just a second longer -- he would remember it for a long time to come. The dart of sunlight through her fur. Her closed eyes. The flowers as they felt mutely downwards in suspended motion, while soft giggles filled the glade.

He was jolted  back to the present by Phaedra's newest word. His brow crinkled as he repeated it to himself, making nothing of the clue she gave him. "Is it... sick?" He knew that wasn't it, but now he was into teasing category. "Scowl? Frown..?" His face shifted into an exaggerated frown. "Seizure?" He started to convulse, the grin returning. "Oh. Is it -- stinky?"

He'd wait for her answer before he continued, though he looked forlornly past her at where their old den site had been. "We can make a new one. It'll be easy. I'll help make a border with rocks because I am stinkendzehen," (That is strongest deer, wouldn't you know). "It'll be even better. With more flowers and less snails this time."