Jade Fern Grove just a young gun with a quick fuse

There was a man upon her pelt—Crowfeather—the recognition only from his one time meeting with the gentle man. A good man—and for that, he was pleased to know as he cast a sideways glance to the she-wolf. She moved as if in a daze, and once more, he ushered the hare to her—and gave pause at her words. “The creek is well. But how are you?”

With that, with closer inspection—she seemed such a shadow of her former self. He knew that feeling—knew it so very well, and he lifted an arm, an invitation for her to come closer—to seek his warmth and comfort should she need it. And with that: “I promise, I can keep my paws to myself, Silvertongue. Come, eat, and know you have a shoulder to rest. What’s wrong?”