Jade Fern Grove Seems you cannot be replaced, and I'm the one who will stay

"it is, and there's all kinds of names for it. all sorts of snow. the soft stuff that first falls, or the thicker flakes, now. or the way it's all packed together with ice on the top." lestan stopped and paused and looked around, all around he and her, at the glittering piles of snow and the way it draped upon the canopies, and the way the ice glimmered in odd, eldritch designs upon the trunks of the trees.
he too, wanted to dance; he too wondered if she might run and laugh with him, a moment. but not now, not now. lestan looked at her as long as he dared. "maybe you will allow me the honor of watching. one day."
he covered his nerves with a snicker and a stooping down; he motioned to two broken twigs. "it has a limp. and it's alone. usually goats stay in a herd. the snow must have separated this one." on he crouched, motioning reverie with him, showing her the stronger trail, the uneven marks, the bits of fur, moving faster and faster and low to his belly, now fully focused on their hunt.
and then; he thought of the blood! suppose it — took her away again? lestan stopped. "have you hunted before, reverie? like this, i mean."