Calling All Calendula Crafters

Gossamer asked Morgawr whether she was up for a healing lesson, and the baby princess nodded vigorously. "Duh! That was what she'd called for, right? Morgawr could listen, at least, when she wanted. She didn't always want to. But healing seemed fun, and then she could have something to talk about. She did want to talk to other wolves; she just didn't want to talk about any of the things that they talked about, and she couldn't share any of her made-up stories. It made her feel very uncomfortable just to think about, like she would be telling a secret. Her stories were hers. Not anybody else's.

Another wolf showed up, talking cheerfully. Morgawr wondered what the word "shit" meant. She couldn't remember hearing it before. She couldn't remember most of her conversations--if you could call them that--with others, though. They were so boringggg. She couldn't help it if nobody was interesting enough to keep her attention, right? The wolf rubbed Morgawr's head roughly, and she stepped back, wrinkling her nose and her eyes narrowing to slits. She didn't want to be pushed around, and she didn't recognize the action as an attempt at affection. She completely ignored Aris's question because of that. Disrespect was met with disrespect.

She turned to Gossamer as she started speaking, not sparing another glance for Aris, and listened as politely as she possibly could force herself to. She was more focused on looking like she was paying attention than actually paying attention, but she did alright. She'd probably remember next to nothing, but she was at least trying.