Wapun Meadow Plates and Saucers

Myrtle's pained gaze brightened a bit when she was given permission to call him by the nickname she'd coined. He seemed like the type of wolf who should have had a nickname, something endearing and sweet to match his graciousness. She moved alongside him, every now and again glancing over just to catch a glimpse of him, and found the corner of her mouth tug upwards as she did so. If only her mouth didn't hurt her so much- they could have had such a wonderful conversation!

At first, Myrtle didn't see Evien, his earthy pelt allowing him to blend in with the subtle tones of clay in his environment. But when he unraveled from his sleeping position and moved forth, Myrtle regarded him with reverence as he approached, to greet Merry with a kindly gesture, which further improved Myrtle's impression of the Ursus wolves. When he startled, she crouched slightly, tail waving from side to side as an apology for surprising him. She was aware that she likely looked nothing like herself, with her muzzle and tongue swollen, but at least his evergreen gaze was concerned, not critical. "Bee stig," She said. She looked to Merrick, as though to confirm that she had permission to request help- before she looked sheepishly to Evien again. "D'you hab calendula?" She asked, her tongue aching with every articulation.