Black Morass timor

“Mmm… Speaks to how whimsical and flowery royalty is, doesn’t it?”

A quiet notion, mostly—in truth, she felt nothing wrong with the way of his people. Succinct… to the point. Still, to marry a soldier would be lonely, she surmised—though the guards she remained familiar with remained closer to their home, guarding the kingdom borders.

His breathing was tight—his eyes denoted something to her—pain, perhaps? As much as she wished to carry on conversations of lighthearted nature, she inclined her muzzle lower, a light tip of slender ivory, her lavender eyes seeking out gold. “You truly don’t know of anyone who can assist you medically?” She paused. Waiting—and then: “If you don’t, you realize I might need to go find someone to help, right?”

He was not okay. Despite his bravado—or his desire to be, winter was not a time to roll the dice on whether an injury would heal gracefully on its own or not.