Blackfeather Woods too short, walking the streets, i'm hating my haircut

He doesn't know how long he stays curled up before Rowan appears at his side. Seconds, really, but it feels like hours. The touch startles him slightly, but he stays completely still, tensing and then relaxing as the other boy grasps his scruff. Zephyr doesn't hear anything he says, but he recognizes the scent, and that's enough. He tries to move, but his limbs refuse to work, so he simply lets Rowan pull him — likely not a difficult task, given Zephyr's diminutive stature. His mind starts to clear, very slowly, the moment he's out of the tree's reach — but not completely. The whispers linger, though his vision starts to return to him in patches. I — I hear them, He manages, his own voice barely above a whisper, and reaches for Rowan, seeking to bury his face in his fur. It won't make the voices stop, but the contact is comforting.