Noctisardor Bypass the wild god reaches into a bag made of moles and nightingale-skin

She didn't understand what he was saying and though a part of him wanted to rebel further and refuse to speak English. He felt his will bend a little, especially since she was so sick.

A twist of sandy ear as he listened to her words. A gentle huff at the fact of Glaukos doing a number on both of them. All three of them actually. Anselm could barely move as well. And for that alone there was a burning anger deep in the ever churning turmoil of emotions of Etienne.

He sighed and spoke. His voice soft barely a whisper. Dis is normal, it is because you are different now. You cannot be goin' true de birt' and not be different. It just not possible. So don't despair. 'owever if it persists you must let me know. Because den you be goin' into a depression dat I may not be able bring you out of. yea?

He nosed at her head. Be easy on yourself Druid. You went true muc' and your pregnancy was not an easy one.

Etienne felt his ears go back as she motioned at his wounds again. But he gave a shake of his head.

It is not yours ot make up.

He nodded, but didn't speak. What was he to say. He could not tell her he didn't want to be here. That he felt that he must be here. That everyone wanted, but no one cared for him. They wanted what he could offer them. He didn't know if he would ever speak those words aloud.