Swiftcurrent Creek witchlore

Likewise, was what he wanted to say. But, after what Reverie had told him, he hadn’t truly helped the other man a single day in his life—had simply made it worse. As was his calling, it seemed—the shadowed wraith of the creek, that withered everything he touched.

His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth to stop him from biting it—Lestan’s touch jolting him a moment, before he relaxed—his own muzzle leaning to sweep the back of the man’s nape before beginning to lead him passed the borders. “C’mon,” he said, gaze drifting over the other. “Let’s get you settled.”