Deepwood Weald tropicalis

More words were on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to know if she needed a doctor, mainly. And he wanted to talk about The Harvest, which sounded to him like old tales of The Drop that he'd heard from Moorhen when his first litter was young. She was just their age, he thought — or even younger. His chest ached to imagine what she might have gone through.

But she slipped away. And he, the coward, allowed it.