Fox's Glade someone only you could want

there, all an inkspill of emotion upon the curtaining peace of the glade. it roiled, moved; "una vida nueva," she whispered, an echo of what wren had said, and looked at the strong wrist and dexterous, capable grip holding her own — "together?" she and crowfeather had built this place. riverclan was a thousand atoms inside her, but while germanicus lived the sharpfang did not know if she could breathe. and yet — the faintest idea of departure stabbed inside her wildling gut. she bowed her crown, at last, to the connection of their paws and breathed out, for suddenly words had gone away and the tears painted her face once more, sweetly so as birdsong echoed in the green canopies.