As Caedwyn laid beside her, Enya instinctually leaned into him as she told her tale. It was when he pulled away and grunted out of his own pain that she realized she had even done so. He rose to his paws and she followed the gesture wincing as her body ached from the prior fight. While physically she hadn't sustained many open wounds outside of her neck, Buck had still been tripped. Her neck had still been punctured. She'd fallen multiple times, both as herself and as Buck's mirror. "It will have to be a slow walk," she muttered as she took a step forward. Enya's gaze looked skywards as she noticed the shifting of the daylight. Morning was well on its way. She wondered if Buck was already settled down somewhere in a thicket nursing his own wounds that he had sustained. She wondered if he had a doe with him to help him feel better. Likely not. He'd always complained to her about how the does would never socialize with him because he stank of predator. 'If only you would have just listened' she thought sternly, chasing away feeling sorry for the creature by feeling angry towards him instead. 'Then you wouldn't need a doe to care for you. I'd have you healed up and tethered to me for every step of the way. Maybe that's what I should do.' Stupid Buck. If he had just been any other deer they would be feasting right now instead of going back to his den with a growling stomach. "Sorry, the promise of a meal suddenly being taken away has my stomach upset." Her stomach growled and rumbled again as if to emphasize her point. She wondered why Caedwyn was nervous suddenly to invite her back to his Den. "I would much rather rest in the safety of your den over being exposed out here where Buck may suddenly spring from the underbrush at any second for round two." At mention, she swung her head left and right, pausing each time to look and listen for the crashing sounds that came with a large Stag charging at two wolves. Nothing. Not even the song birds of the morning had begun their rituals yet. "Unless... I mean it's clean right? I'm sure you keep a well-kept den. A King can't live in filth, after all." She smirked at him as she continued to limp along. "I'll just have to be the judge of that when we get there." "Speech." |
Muddy River
A wide ravine where a shallow, gentle river flows. Years of drought and silt deposits have built this area into a fertile delta. The river remains low and dry most of the year, staining its waters brown and creating muddy shores.
The Shape of Dreams