Overture Downs I told you a lie, désolé, mon amour

A soft smile tugged at Morwenna’s lips as she leaned closer, sensing Bracken’s flush beneath the tangled fur. With delicate care, she tugged each bramble loose, muzzle gliding smoothly over the warmth radiating off Bracken’s nape. Her touch was gentle, almost a soothing balm in itself, though her heart took on a steady rhythm at the closeness.

Once the last thorn slipped free, Morwenna deftly took up a broad fern leaf, her paws moving with a healer's grace. She chewed it briefly, mixing it with the subtle sting of other herbs she’d gathered, her eyes flicking back to Bracken’s in the quiet between them. The way Bracken stilled, content to be cared for, only fueled Morwenna’s tenderness.

You did well, she murmured, voice warm, a hushed softness like a secret shared. The salve she crafted was cool, soothing as it touched Bracken's skin beneath her fur, easing the sting of any scrapes. Just a little more, and it’ll pass soon. She hoped that her touch, her care, might ease whatever had left the young wolf so breathless, so warm with something Morwenna could sense but not name.