Black Morass timor

‘There are no friends of either persuasion…’

She snorted in a bout of mirth. “It must be because you’re so approachable,” she admonished with a light tease.

A wayward eye cast to him, a shift in her slender form, she pulled the squirrel toward her. She would have pointed out that he hardly seemed aging—far more likely he was in his prime. Given his stuffy nature, it wasn’t likely such a statement would be taken as a compliment.

“If a man is too stubborn to avoid a fight, perhaps he should try to find himself a medical friend of sorts,” she surmised ruefully. She began to pluck the fur from the carcass delicately. “Tell me… How do you plan to hunt yourself a meal, being as banged up as you are?”