Ouroboros Spine vi. two hands longing

The yearling's gaze of spring growth widens considerably at the harsh language that spills from the man's lips in absent rambles, the scene reminiscent of when she would wander too closely to the groupings of hunters and warriors as a child. Her head cocked, not quite understanding what he meant with the last string of words.

The strange agouti didn't appear to be speaking to her and Aiwëndil wasn't sure if she should approach. If his cursing was already making the hermit clam up, she likely wasn't up to conversing with him. She resigned herself instead to watching him in place of the birds, silently trying to puzzle out why anyone would want to stare at a tree or eat...that.