Wapun Meadow the color of blood in the violent setting of a dying sun

so, he was intruding only on a temporary space, but intruding nonetheless.
 
the ghost lifted his head and cupped his ears as she continued to explain where she had originally come from and a cryptic line about having severed her ties there. when she pointed, illidan followed her motion and frowned deeply. she was speaking about the pack they had fought with. the realization sent a prickle of unease down his spine and the hairs along his neck rose warily.
 
“seems we have that in common,” the weary soul remarked to her in a haggard voice. “that former pack of yours is the reason for this state of being,” he then added with a motion to his injured figure. it did not take much to see that he was struggling from the fight and had suffered a great deal since it had taken place.
 
when she asked if he needed help with his wounds, the dark-hooded wolf knit his brow with confusion before lowering his muzzle toward the ground. he would have asked for evien’s help but he had felt like a burden on the pack and feared troubling the healer more than he feared troubling morgana.
 
“are you a healer?”

feeling lonely was something he understood well, something he could empathize with.