Otatso Wetlands where will you go

He cupped his ears. Her voice, weak, either through injury or by the strain of emotion. How one like him could do this to her... he understood, of course. They were enemies by nature, and some base, archaic order, rooted in evils too deep for him to fully understand, except to know that things had not always been this way.

Augustine lingered in the dismal afterglow of her words, and knew he did not fear her. He drew forward on spindling legs. The stale air caught his fur.

"I am not death," he said, and smile, softly. The frosted mud crinkled underfoot. "May I... see?" Gilded eyes gestured toward her deepest wounds.

If she said no, and wished to die, he still would not let her. But he would give her the choice, first.