Moonstone Quarry The bear that keeps to his own line

Fleur’s head bobbed once before bounding to her feet. Steps light, she reached his side quickly. The wind could reach her more here on the lip of the Quarry, its gentle song now blowing through her fur much like when they first arrived. She had danced then, but these songs were sent to calm, and so her paws stayed planted firmly tethered.

Her own chest rose long and deep as she paused to listen, to inhale. Scents, old and new, barraged her senses, yet she categorized them, familiarized herself with what will be her home. One of many stood out to her—she knew its origin. Like the others, she tucked it away, but she chose a much safer part than her mind this time. Somewhere next to a certain bottle that continued its rage against her ribcage.

Breath no longer able to be held, she let it go, allowing a calm to settle into her completely. “There is, I have no doubt.” 

Eyes opened to give him a sidelong glance as she continued. “How can I help? I may be like a newborn—useless and always hungry,“ she paused as a giggle escaped her, “But I promise to learn quickly.”