Swiftcurrent Creek nightshade

She lifted her paw lifted to skim the scar along her snout—‘cannot go home,’ she said, and her demeanor shifted.

Deflated.

This time, she looked to him—and her gaze found the ground, the flames within her eyes rapidly declining. He withheld the frown that pulled at his features—reminding himself of their first meeting.

That this surely was no damsel in distress, and he absolutely needed to shut down the part of his mind that insisted he play the white knight for anyone who need it—it always ended poorly for all sides.

He was no knight—she was no damsel.

“Then you stay,” he confirmed—understanding this to mean for good, but unsure if that was what she meant. “But you should find Mae… the girl you attacked? My daughter.” A pause, his eyes firm upon her, even if she would not look to him. “Maybe try to make amends.”

He doubted Mae would hear of it—but his girl surprised him often, more often lately than ever.

Otherwise—“Stay busy. Hunt. Assist Viinturuth on short scouting trips.” Another pause, his muzzle bending lower now, as if seeking her eyes once more. “But still let your leg heal.”