Firefly Glen And a Song Well-Sung is a Sung-Well Song So Sing

Gawain, though startled by how forward and open the woman was with her touch, comfortable even with a stranger, would be lying if he'd said the physical contact wasn't nice. It was a damned weakness of his, tactile nature. Try as he might to suppress it, Gawain still found himself enjoying the momentary closeness. 

The young wolf missed her compliment of his name, still lost in his thoughts, but was brought back to the surface by the change in her tone, a question in her voice. He had to pause several seconds to recall her words before he was able to truly process the question. His stomach curled at the thought. Home- or, not-home, rather- was not close. Or maybe it was. Gawain was so god damn useless that he didn't have a clue. And it was his own fault. It was his fucking fault that he'd gotten himself and Mauri into this fucking mess what an-

Focus, Gawain. Be a fucking person. "No," he mumbled softly, ears pinning back against his skull. He tried to draw his mind away from the spiral it was so desperate to continue down, instead focusing on the soothing repetition of the woman tugging burrs steadily from his tail. "Are you...where are we? I mean, are," he exhaled heavily pausing several seconds before continuing. "Do you know this place?