Sleeping Dragon laid waste to all your inhibitions

Rain-wet as she was, Angel wasn't helping Ezra's attempts to keep dry. Being a scout had inured her to the horrors of a damp pelt, though she did still have the sense to seek nominal shelter after her bout of illness.

"I don't remember anything like that," she admitted, shivering due to the spookiness of it more than the cold. It was frightening enough to think about how long she'd spent without awareness. Add in whispering stones? It was starting to sound like a nightmare. "But I suppose that's for the best," she said firmly.

She turned her attention back to Ezra, who probably could remember the last several weeks of his life. And beyond that, of course.

"You have a different accent than Sega," she noted, her tail whisking again in the cramped space. "Have you been with him long?"

Perhaps they were family of some kind — Angel couldn't rule that out. But she was curious about how they'd come together anyway. Was it like her mother and the moon and morning wolves that Angel had grown up alongside?