Fairspell Meadow until you lose it all

maybe, ingram allows in a soft hum; seaglass gaze roving the landscape 'round them, alert though trying not to appear so.

a part of ingram wished that things hadn't been as bad as they had been, that his cubs could know mahler. that it wasn't too late to prove that he's grown and changed. did he regret killing praimfaya? no. but he paid the consequences of it daily and nightly. she haunts his dreams, two of her ribs have a home in his threadbones.

the kill marks she left upon his muzzle serve as a physical reminder.

perhaps if he hadn't went to mahler so boastful, perhaps if he'd told the truth: praimfaya had been sick and upon her deathbed when he'd found her. he'd given her a heda's death maybe ... just maybe mahler wouldn't hate him.

it was funny, in a non ironic way how the bridges he'd happily burned as a boy came back to haunt him as a man.

a movement caught out the corner of his eye jerks ingram's muzzle in it's direction, upper lip curling back and a low growl rumbling in his chest. only to let the tension slip from his shoulders silksmooth when he realized it was a rabbit; spooked.

are you hungry? ingram asks then, the rabbit a not so subtle reminder that he needs to be attentive to her needs.