Otter Creek Save your breath, my brother

Anselm should have known his words were careless. He did not care. The burn of Etienne's gaze upon him only served to stoke his flowering indignity.

He was too proud -- and perhaps too stupid -- to offer apology now. Etienne cast the wares he'd used to tend Anselm aside, and it was then Anselm's gaze turned from sulky to dull.

Of course, he recognized he was dead without Etienne. He knew this in his heart, but he refused to speak it.

Off you go then. He replied dourly, painstakingly crossing one paw over the other in a grimace. Every muscle hurt and he knew he would regret his bullheadedness later.

Raindrop returned; Anselm supped from the moss thirstily, watching as she turned away to speak to Etienne privately. Anselm had no interest in begging and stubbornly turned his back to both of them, at his own great pain.