Lost Creek Hollow when we last spoke i was a dog with a broken leg

she had come home to disaster, and she was thankful for it. trying to calm wren covered the miserable cadence of her own heart; assuring her wife that this man had gone. the fear was palpable, bone-deep; she seized upon it and agreed in that moment to leave, even if no one else would go. standing beside her wife, silvertongue waited for the others to gather, dipping her head at ash star, smiling waveringly at acantha.