Hushed Willows but i finally think i can say

her questions are a welcomed distracting chatter.

where did he come from? rivenwood, bad things had happened ezra tells her — a series of rather unfortunate events that he does not go into detail about — and he and his mother had left.

was the red in his fur a blood stain? no, he answers next. he was born with it, like his mother.

his accent was different. it vas how his father spoke, he admits; quieted, trying to temper the ache in his chest because he missed anselm, he missed gideon.

he wishes to return with questions of his own but by the time he'd finished answer her's they had reached the hunting grounds.

he watches her with breath that he didn't realize was baited until it stutters out from betwixt his lips as an angry meadowlark's talons reached for her. ezra's muscles are drawn taunt beneath his pelt as he moves in; impulsively, instinctively to put himself between the defensive bird and her.

he sees his opening and he lunges at the bird, remembering that he was neither small nor pudgy anymore. he was almost to his adult height and though certainly gangly with definitive youth, he's a brawler. it fights for a moment but looses beneath the power of ezra's jaws.