Hoshor Plains The Winds of Notos!

Winston evidently didn’t consider him a threat, nor a predator, based on the next few words out of his soft-lipped mouth. Talisman’s own mouth hung open a little as the deer jerked and twitched—the coyote tried not to cringe—then muttered something about lions and tigers and bears and bobcats, oh my!

He could’ve pointed out that he was very much a carnivore, though why should he spoil Winston’s delightful illusion? Besides, it wasn’t like Talisman posed any serious threat to the much larger beast. He was hungry but he already found himself balking at the mere thought of trying to hurt Winston.

No, no, it’s fine, Talis said quickly. I’m not from anywhere in particular. My parents were nomads and so am I, he shared with a few twitches of his cinnabar tail.

It was entirely possible he was only feeling this way toward Winston because of his recent loneliness, though he very much doubted it. Anyone who crossed paths with this particular stag would be enchanted. It was as if he’d pranced right off the screen of a Disney film.

His stomach chose that moment to very abruptly and loudly growl. Talisman tensed, then gazed up at Winston, wondering if it would suddenly click that they were mortal enemies. Perhaps he could stave off such a revelation.

Hey, Winston, do you know anything good to eat around here, by any chance? Like… maybe some berries or something?