Witch's Marsh We watched, the stars fell, and oh you know we let them

Charles was surprised when she got aggressive with him. He found his inner self desire to curl into a ball, hold his breath and wait for her to leave him alone. He was just trying to be nice and see a friend, and see where it got him.

I don't even know you.

The words stung more than any of the other things she said, because it meant that Charles had once more totally mistaken the situation. He thought they were friends. Her, Bronco, Luna, Whrist, whatever the names of the handful of other wolves were that he had met in his life where something just kinda clicked. Turned out that he was totally mistaken and she didn't feel the same way at all.

The insult was pretty dumb. Even Charles could identify that. He had the opposite of a flat nose — his nose was, in fact, very long and pointy. He couldn't find the words or courage to be sassy about it, though. He couldn't find the words or courage for anything.

For about twenty seconds, he was just silent. Then Charles said dejectedly, Fine, go fuck yourself and I do the same. The hurt was palpable in his voice. He felt self-hatred creep up on him and the familiar tension crawl through his skin that told him that he deserved to hurt.

Charles then started to trot away, in opposite direction of Fennec. She wanted him to fuck off? Fine, he'd fuck off.