Swiftcurrent Creek A dizzy twister dance, can't find my drink or man

She hadn't meant to make him feel bad, and she could tell that she had. Reverie softened, feeling guilty herself now because Arric did a lot for her. All of Swiftcurrent Creek did, really; she wondered sometimes how she had gotten by before, without the support of a pack. She'd had Kvarsheim but she hadn't, not really, because she was never there.
Reverie wondered, too, what she'd done to deserve any of it. There was goodness in her, once; before the fire, before all of those healers and their awful remedies. But Arric didn't know that. Moss didn't know that. They knew Reverie, not Ophelia, and Reverie was — well, she was selfish, and she knew that. It was the promise she'd made herself when she fled The Gilded Sea, that she would be selfish, and nevermind the consequences. Why did anyone think she deserved their help?
It's easy to take things for granted when you don't know anything else, Reverie said softly. Everything is so different here. Even the people. I'm still not used to it.
She watched Arric lay his head on his paws and mimicked the movement. After a moment she felt a restless itch and rolled onto her back, careful not to jostle Blossom too much, and peered at Arric a little mischievously. She stretched out one leg to paw at the air between them, a silent invitation for gentle play. Something to lighten the mood.