[SWP] little squirrels

[Ulric]

Rest had come easier to him than it had in a very long time. It had been unwilling, of course, his need to keep a vigilant eye on their surroundings and assure his people were safe nearly overriding his need for rest all over again. But the moment he had lowered to the ground in his quaint quarters and his head supported by a cushion, he was out, though waking numerous times in a panic that brought him to his window throughout the night. When he awoke, there was no time to waste in finding his way back out of the citadel where he searched for the familiar faces of his friends and family; Ipomoea, Eulalie, little Anemone and Regis, and Somnus, too. There were others, of course, as there always would be, but busy as he was the Warden had neglected to grow close to many others. Perhaps, once this was over and their safety assured, he would see a change to that. Spying his friend’s golden form on the horizon, Ulric made his way to him, not missing the statuesque form of Oriens himself still standing amongst the cracked and scorched earth. As he went, molten eyes scanned the forest surrounding them and, much to his surprise, no new fires seemed to have sprung to life in the night for the first time since they’d started. As he closed in on them, the roan cast Alba a fleeting, tired smile before pressing his nose briefly against Somnus shoulder in a brotherly greeting. He did not speak, not yet, instead allowing the Sovereign and his God have a word all their own. But at Somnus’ question, his brow furrowed and he looked between the pair, standing to Somnus’ left. “Either way, how do you figure we’ll be able to tell?” He asked, the thin skin around his mouth crinkling as his lips drew back, “I’ve never... deliberated with a squirrel before.” Words he could have never thought would leave his mouth. "Speaking."