Sleepy Fox Hollow nothing

With a yip and a twist, the startled boy turned to face her – his youthfully tousled coat transforming into the readied tines of a porcupine. River slow-blinked and gave him the long, unfeeling gaze of a grizzled parking lot attendant.



Name’s River. Me and Mahler go way back. She reclined, perhaps in the hopes of easing his clear and present suffering. I don’t need to see him. Just tell me: is he doing okay?