Ouroboros Spine lxiii. if i said i'd be good would you even believe me?

Lótë.

He had never heard such a word spoken to him, the sounds she made foreign on the grain of his brain and tongue. He was unaware of the grand culture that surrounded him in this place.

Only that the bear-marked hunter, now named Lótë, tended to him.

She was, in a sense, his world. Any influence Moonglow may have had upon him was only through her these days.

He did not understand that she expected something in return though. Unaware of the social delicacies that came along with speaking verbal languages.

So he offered a brief, small wiggle of his body towards her in friendly acceptance of her words. Quail-feather dotted face looking upon her for what she was — his world, his life line.