Qeya River I know the pieces fit

up.

Ksura grimaced as he finally felt the pressure lift, but the command was not easily met with a smart salute. His legs felt as weak and listless as his soul, and it took an agonizing moment for him to draw his feet toward his chest, and then to push himself up. His shoulder screamed; the flesh torn by fangs before had been pressed into the earth, and he felt the slash of every blade of grass pry itself from the wounds as he lifted himself up. 

He glanced to Senka, still keeping his head low and ears flicked back in deference. He didn’t register what the man was asking for, or the name he gave for himself. He worked his jaw, felt the wounds on his muzzle begin to swell. He could taste blood, though he wasn’t sure where it came from. 

It was only when she spoke that he realized that he had heard Sun Eater, and registered his instructions. He couldn’t understand why, but he failed to find the heart to give up his name. Who was Ksura, but a coward? 

Senka did not give hers either, but brought up her wounds. He uttered a soft whisper of a chuff, his sad, tired eyes offering a thousand apologies for not being able to protect her. He would do what he could to help her heal. She slouched, and he moved closer, whispering for her to lay down. The white of his eye gleamed in Sun Eater’s direction- a plea that they be given space, and that they be spared further abuse. 

March where? He asked, hoping the question might be a distraction.