Wapun Meadow no rest for the weary

The glade turns to forest turns to a meadow— the very same meadow he had met Merrick in what seemed like forever ago. The memory tears a shiver up his spine like a scythe through a wheat field.
Only this time, there was no blood in his mouth. Only this time, it was Evien with his limp and his green eyes and his pale chin. Taylor jots down his mannerisms in a note pad.
The back and forth motion of his tail.
​It was his left back leg that was bothering him.
​And it was either that his features were rather big for his face or his face was rather small for his features. 
The feeling of being taken care of is so foreign. He's reacting to it like a body reacts to a new fresh transplant. How worker bees react to their queen being replaced. After a few moments of letting this turbulence eat a hole through him, he sits down, tucks his feet under himself. I'll try my best, he says, though he knows that he's likely to fail. There's strange need to apologise and explain to Evien, a guilt which he strangles and buries. 
He closes his eyes.