The Bracken Woods burn the witch

"in anything," memnoch grunted back, settling himself. it did not seem likely he would be attacked, not now. and if he was, great star take him. the miniscule features of the prophet contorted in pain; he glanced down at his lacerated flesh and gave a sharp sigh.
"i don't suppose ye know where't i might find water?" the fox inquired, flame-eyes trailing with open curiosity over the boar's craggy features. "be ye careful; the wolves are coming." by which memnoch could have meant anything, but he soon turned his focus to his wounds, unwilling in this moment to explain himself.