Whitefish River if the men find out we can shapeshift, they’re going to tell the church

saarthal was torn between growling in frustration, squeezing the shit out of mallaidh whilst disguising the act as a hug or just - ugh. this suppression of issues was not doing her health any good whatsoever. "you don't know that," saarth said instead, increasing her pace a little bit so the two of them were walking side by side. "the chances of her being completely fine are just the same as her being hurt or whatever. right now, you don't know anything, and frankly, you can't know anything. there's no way for you to find out for sure what happened, not right now at least. and if there's no way you can, then dwelling on those thoughts are useless and helps nobody," she glanced over at mallaidh and exhaled sharply, "varinril wouldn't want that."

wow. she was having rather contradictive urges as her eyes settled on her companion's now familiar form. on one hand, she very much felt that this was not the root of the problem, what so fucking ever and thus was suppressing the idea to strangle mallaidh out of sheer exasperation and built up nerves, and on the other hand? she was looking very kissable. and. yeah. cute. "then let me help," saarthal grounded out, a slip of frustration evident in her tone and the scrunch of her nose, "no one ever said you had to do this alone. if you just let me help, and tell me what i did wrong and stuff, if you can, so i'd know why you're mad at me...just - i can lead too, i was taught just -i can help."