Felltree Marsh lives of the witching circle

When Lestan finally slept, Swordfish was left to wait. His eyes heavy, sinking into his skull. He could feel the stress on his mind but he could not find himself at peace enough to risk sleep, to risk vulnerability. It was a tricky thing. He cared about the madman’s wellbeing. He also feared his unpredictable shift in personality.

Lestan dreamed and Swordfish watched his eyelids flutter while he slept, the way his paws twitched softly. The bear-hunter yawned, searching the terrain behind them for any sign of Ellie. Only the birds made themselves known.