Jade Fern Grove azul

She. When he moved, she turned. When he breathes, he could feel the return of her own breath trickling down his lungs. That same breath, her breath, didn't stay in his nose, didn't stay where he could relish in scent and smell alone, but intoxicated him like pooling smoke. She rushed out his own air. She faltered his breath. She distorted the meaning of oxygen. She didn't make him stop breathing, no, but she made him breath harder. From faster, to slower, to holding it and demanding it back out. In that, he was devolving into a mess.

A mess, however, that he acknowledged in himself, and could not tell if he wanted to destroy it, or if he wanted to keep it. Keep it for, and he did not know why, a fleeting moment where he had scraps of purpose. So, he started harder at her, tail holding at a slight rise and his nose unforgiving. For a broken, injured woman, he did not know how to handle himself. He did not know what to do, nor how to behave. He felt no sense of calm around her, and that same feeling in his gut remained. Even so, he wasn't leaving. He captured her in his vision on upright legs and his chest out. "I don't know where 'Riverclan' is, lady. You want me to help you?" Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. As if his aggression was rising, springing to the surface. Yet he didn't think he wanted to bring any sense of harm to her. None.

"How?"