Wapun Meadow tickle that cheek and take your throne.

Vhat? I’m fine. Anselm raised his muzzle to peer pointedly at Fiona in irritation. He noticed how quickly she stepped back; an ugly bolus of irritation sat malevolently in the back of his throat. 

He looked to the girl, her head split from cheek to ear where blood darkened her fur. 

Was it too late to put her back?

They couldn’t afford this. The hollow’s caches were not a free for all pantry — and the girl was in no position to earn her keep. 

Ve are not running an orphanage, Etienne. Anselm exhaled, meeting the golden gaze of the man whose heart was too open for his own good. Ve cannot afford to adopt every starveling that comes along! How are ve to feed her? Yet the fire of his outrage petered out as he saw Etienne’s worried expression. Irritated, Anselm ran his tongue across his cut muzzle in thought. 

His focus turned to the fading scent threads with a lash of his tail. If you save her, you feed her. When she vakes, ve bring her back to vhere you found her.