Fairspell Meadow shed every skin that no longer fits

scarab is quiet as she comments that he's a long way from home. he has been tossed around mercilessly by the sea, spent days gorging himself on his own ilk and wandering for so long that time and distance have begun blurry concepts to him. home. he doubts — after the tsunami — that home even exists anymore. he saw the damage done to the grove. it was hard to image than ankyra sound fared any better.

i — he swallows thickly against the words — for it is easier to think them then to say them aloud. to utter them out loud feels like a curse that once he says he cannot take back. there was a cave in. i got separated from the pack. and then the big wave hit and carried me out to sea. it spit me out in a grove to the south ...i found dead bodies when i awoke. i don't think the sound fared any better. he conveniently leaves out the part where he ate the one wolf corpse. for some reason that isn't something he's so willing to divulge. it was his monstrous little secret that he must keep close to his chest.

there, scarab thinks. it was a craftily worded way to admit to her that he thinks his family is dead without coming right out and saying it. surely, wording counted for everything when it came to 'curses'.