Cricket Creek Bog nothing arrived

the wisp has resigned himself to soak, letting the body hold metaphor for the internal state of affairs. plus what's the point of moving anyway, he just wants to sulk for a bit. he's alone anyway, no smell of wolf near enough to be worrisome, though apparently that doesn't mean he's alone, because suddenly something very small and very orange is speaking to him. del must have overlooked the fox earlier - and well duh, it's not like he's in the habit of paying attention to lesser canines - only now it's talking to him. for a moment the boy feels embarrassed to be caught in this situation, but really, who cares what a fox thinks of him?

"suffering," he announces, abandoning his usual sense of decorum. oh, but the water was getting chilly and felt a touch slimy on his fur, so he does go ahead and extract himself, rising on long limbs to shake himself out. he eyes the fox contemptuously, as if it's to blame for the neverending screeches of crickets and the dampness of his coat. "aren't you meant to be afraid of me?" the singing-sunlight asks with more teeth than usual, though he lacks any malice needed to actually be frightening - he's a soggy, sullen thing, hardly meant to be taken seriously.