Sleepy Fox Hollow Just long enough to overthink.

Visits to the girl were rare, timed to when he sensed @Etienne was tending to her gradually knitting wounds. 

He had nothing to say to either, and mercifully, the girl did not talk. While conversations were not something Anselm desired, he wanted for company. Company that was in sparse supplies these days. The last of Raindrop’s scents had faded, winter was closing in, and Anselm felt driven half-mad by his own spiraling seclusion. 

Still, he could not voice these things. His pride was too uncompromising. Conceding that at last his continued dickishness presented poor prognosis for his prolonged survival, Anselm brought a small winter hare to the healer while he stood watch over the girl. How is she?