Two Rivers Isle Faces look ugly when you're alone

It was with a heavy limp and the damp, swaying carcass of a newborn fawn that Winterbourne crossed the borders of Two Rivers Isle. He cut a path directly for @Ingiullik. Blood trickled through his fur, tossing droplets into the dirt and onto blades of grass here and there as he walked, but he paid it no mind.

When he found his mate, he dropped the fawn at her feet. Then he took a swaying step back and collapsed into a sit. It occurred to him then that he must look horrific: one side of his face swathed in red, head gashed where he'd taken a blow from a mother's frantic hoof, hind leg bloodied and buckling with each step. Winterbourne closed his eyes.

All he could think about, really, was getting some sleep.

She was bundling together some herbs for Eshe, pooling her leftovers with something fresh. It was quiet work that occupied little of her mind — instead of the herbs, she saw children dancing through her mind's eyes, and her husband —

"Husband!" she said, the word oddly mangled as it started in joy and ended in horror as she took in the state of him. "You are — hurt? You are hurt!"

She rushed around the fawn to fawn over him instead, investigating his wounds with a gently probing nose.

"What has happened?" she fretted, now attempting to guide him toward the mouth of the log den, where she had some more supplies tucked away.