Foxe watched the two women silently, feeling as though he were intruding upon a moment. Ridley seemed quietly stricken and Peony looked much like a guardian trying to be as comforting as she might. Neither woman made the first step to leave and so Foxe waited patiently.
After a few moments of silence, he spoke up. "She's quite right," he said of Peony, "there's no rush." He focused on Ridley, noticing how young she looked. Sometimes he wondered if the guilds didn't pluck children up too young. In spite of himself, he couldn't help but say a bit more. He understood, to some extent, what the girl felt. He'd been a young boy in the woods once. He'd wanted to take home every beast that crossed his path. His grandfather had imparted on him all sorts of knowledge but none so great as what he felt the need to share: "You did the creature a kindness in seeing to its wounds. And there is no greater strength than letting go when it is necessary. There are many who cannot understand such wisdom. Many who might have just kept the hare and done it harm by keeping it confined." Foxe was no great wordsmith or thinker and so when done, he turned his attention elsewhere, as if to give the women their privacy back.