Emberwood Till I'm Swept Up by the Shape of All the Centuries

The fire woman might have rolled her eyes if she'd been a truly unkind person. She held it back with the rest of her emotions of mild disgust as the little man rolled and wobbled himself to a sit. He tried to make words come, but it was a sad handful of excuses for sentences. Valmúa just blinked, staring at him. Slowly, it began to dawn on her that he might just be one of those wolves of the Willows. The wolves that were now homeless, and being homeless it meant that she needed to do due diligence in finalizing their dispersal by pissing on all of their landmarks.
As the boy steadied himself clumsily on his feet, another member of their Court found them. She spoke soft and gentle words as she entered, clearly hoping that the mess of a man was alone.
This advent seemed to fluster him even more, for none of the things that came out of his dumb mouth made any lick of sense to her. He asked a question, she supposed it was to her, at which she scoffed. She wanted to say something really mean, but it seemed less fun when someone else was watching her. This time, she didn't have the backup of her boys, and so she tried to harness the power of kindness that lived somewhere deep— very deep — in her fiery heart.
Yes, I am from the Watch, she said plainly, swallowing and trying to give him a small smile. It appeared as smiles do when they are forced: fake.
You are both from the Willows, ja? she asked, sniffing vaguely at the female and the boy, wondering if he was a son of hers. The red northerner felt decidedly uncomfortable, having no idea how to deal with emotional people on this wavelength. It took everything in her not to dance about and proclaim that their pathetic little Court of Faeries was bust.