Hawthorn couldn't hold back the dry laugh that rasped from his chest. More of a croak, really. A wry smile curled across his lips. The Concord didn't have rituals, we had ceremonies. And this, he gestured to himself with a tilt of his muzzle, this was certainly not one of them.

The she-devil circles him, scrutinizing the scene. The ground, the hole, and him. He does not flinch from her investigation, nor does he comment on her subtle preening. A simple gesture, but one he appreciated quietly.

It proved she was real.

Different... huh? He repeated her description, tasting the word for himself. It was an apt word for the bizarre scenario he had found himself in. The adrenaline rush left a mind fog in its wake. It brought with it a cold dread. He surely wasn't losing control of his own mind, right? 

Did someone go after you?

Goldenrod eyes slowly drifted to the environment. The open grave was lackluster. There were no claw marks upon the ground to indicate that it had been dug and refilled. In fact, the only marks he could find were those he made digging out. Hawthorrn pulled himself to his paws, head lowering to the ground as he began to investigate for himself.

The only scents on the ground were those of the wetland itself, Envy's, and his own. Distantly, fish, frog, and heron could be scented on the air, but he presumed that to be normal given the marsh. Running water could be heard through the mist, as could the buzzing of insects as they flitted about in the early morning.

Hawthornn turned to Envy, bewilderment clear on his face. I don't remember anybody, and if I did get on someone's bad side, there's no sign of them. His eyes narrowed as he strained to bring anything to the forefront of his mind. I had fallen asleep, I didn't even dream of getting pummelled or of anyone else. I just— He shook his head in frustration, a forepaw lifting in a vague gesture to the hole. I woke up in the ground.