Sun Mote Copse whispering her wishes to the threads

antha softened, realizing as the man spoke that he was, perhaps, not all there. pity smothered the last of her judgment, and she answered him without resentment. my name is antha. are you a traveler? he didn't smell of others, but perhaps it was hidden by the stench of his filth. but then, if he had loved ones, why would they let him wander in this state? was he lost?