Lion Head Mesa Empty rooms are honest places

The dark figure found that he had a terrible time deciphering what the little creature said when he spoke. This was a blessing and a curse, for Crowfeather was keen to listen to each drawling tone that left the miniature figure, but he did not find himself any wiser on what was being said or what was being asked.

Gucci came from a clan called Georgia, it seemed. The name of his home was something of a mouthful in its entirety, so Crowfeather did not attempt it. Instead, the shadow bobbed his head in mild understanding and tried his best to figure out how he might answer. All the while, Crowfeather’s honey gaze devoured the unfamiliar details on Gucci’s body – the tininess of his paws, the strange fur coat he wore over his long hairs, the stoutness of his muzzle.

Oh, I’m… I’m from the Starsea. It’s far from here. Not like this place at all.

Crowfeather swallowed a nervous lump in his throat.

Um… Gucci, the shadow paused uncertainly, what was the Georghoney like?