Teren has been scarce lately, which, to her credit, isn't that unusual. She's not the most sociable of the Wardens, and now that they live in a building instead of the camp, she has less reason to conduct her nightly patrols. No one's going to get stabbed through their tent or wake up from a Blight dream in the cold wilderness, which means she isn't needed the way she used to be.
Which is good, of course. Probably. It means she can spend more time alone, in the quiet, without having to worry about anyone seeing her new facial acquisition.

There is only one drawback to the whole thing, which is: Boots has to be fed. If Teren asked someone else to do it-- well she wouldn't, for one thing, because Boots is her unwanted druffalo, and no one else can care for him properly. For another, then it might seem like she's not up to the task, and that's ridiculous, how dare anyone assume so.

Thus it transpires that, on a drizzly evening, Teren is outside in the shed she requisitioned for her large friend's use, portioning out some grain to supplement his daily grazing. And.. talking to him. Having a full conversation, it sounds like, though Boots is markedly taciturn.