Firefly Glen ^__________________^

He accepted her offer, seemingly without qualm, so Treepie canted her head and swept to her feet. Her eyes brushed over the patch of bluegrass—soon to disappear underneath a layer of snow, likely to wilt beneath its weight—before she faced forward. She replayed Rowyn’s words in her head as she paced toward the moldering log straddling the invisible line between the mountain and the glen.

She rolled to a stop beside the log’s mouth, motioning for Rowyn to walk inside ahead of her. Pie ducked her head and walked inside too, pondering how much tragedy he’d faced in his life that he’d maxed out his bandwidth. She was afraid to ask.

She folded herself to the dirt floor, paws tucked beneath her chest, snout pointed toward Rowyn as she waited for him to get comfortable. A soft rushing noise snagged her attention, yellow eyes cutting to the entrance as the wind picked up and blustered a bunch of flurries past the doorway. Tiuttuk hunched into herself a bit more.

Do you need a place to stay, she wondered aloud, gaze once more finding his face, on a more permanent basis, I mean?