Hushed Willows I'll stake rare toothpicks in my dirt-filled heart

She found some measure of comfort in his embrace, as she always did. Where she was frantic, scattered, he was calm and rational. Reverie slowly steadied her breaths, and when she parted from him she was a little less panicked. She took the lead, quickly frustrated all over again with her leg and the way it hung uselessly at her side. But she knew better than to try to bear any weight on it. That would only set her back in her healing, and possibly render the leg forever impaired. Already she knew it would not heal perfectly.

When they reached the southern edges of the territory, ascending now into a climb that would have been difficult even with all four legs functional, anxiety started to pull at her again. Reverie wasn't certain she could manage this. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Boone, and slowly fell back until they were side by side. For this part, she would have to rely on him. He was experienced with this kind of sharp, treacherous terrain — and Reverie was nervous, though she tried not to let it show too much.