Moth bounded into sight seconds later, his wings drooping and his body darker than usual, his fur and feathers wet and dripping with what I assumed was river water.
“Sparrow, my love, ever-favorite object of my heart,” he said, forcing a smile that came across a bit feral, “what the ever-loving fuck are you doing back here?”
Zell—galloped nearby as well. My loyal friend occasionally left his herd and darted closer, making certain I saw him, as if to tell me he was ready and eager for me to call him to my side.