Bramblepoint the devil's right there in the details

She talks about being saved. About apples, and friendship, and none of it sounds familiar but he wants it to, desperately. He wants something good to come out of this. Something true. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind says, "She's lying, you can't believe her. She's making it up just like that guy from the plateau."

And then, another voice — one he feels more than hears, hisses to him:
She isss a threat, you cannot let her leave.
This doesn't surprise him. The voice is familiar, it tugs at some fundamental part of him and as he hears it, he looks away from the girl with the pelt of fire and stares at the dark, overcome.

He sees the shadows tremble, feels the cold touch of the distant winter as a breath sighs through the trees. Mou realizes he's closed his eyes and when he opens them he's staring between some nearby trees, to where some of the bramble shrubs are struggling to take root in the soil. Instead there is a small burst of color. Some strange looking flowers are struggling to grow there.

The voice comes again.

She cannot leave.

He wants more answers. Were they really friends? Mou looks from the shadows to the girl, studying her face but with not a shred of recognition. He's thinking — considering what she's said, maybe, or deliberating what to do next. In the end he opens his mouth and slurs, We... fren? He knows what he must do.