Stavanger Bay when the sky turns grey

Charon couldn't tell from the look on Lyric's face if she fell for the lie or not. In his experience, most wolves wouldn't take the risk of calling him out on a lie like this; what did they know if he'd been talking to his dead mother or not? Even if they were ninety-nine percent sure that he wasn't, it wouldn't be worth the risk of the one percent that he would have been and that their mocking would crush his fragile little soul. Lyric, however, seemed to ponder whether she would risk it.

At first she seemed to give on, saying 'okay' and moving out of the water, her mood turning about as sour as Charon's did, it seemed. Then she made a comment and started to walk away from him while she seemed to be laughing.

Fully absorbed in his own web of lies (and, because it was based on truth, it wasn't hard to pretend or get lost in them, the barrier between reality and fiction growing vague), Charon didn't waste any time to jump to his feet and give her a hard stare while she walked away. "You think that's funny?" he shouted, agitated now, and he trotted after her, to the play where she lay in the sand waiting. "You think it's funny that my mother died? You wanna make fun of me because I'm a sad orphan?" The fur in Charon's neck and along his spine bristled in agitation and he stared at Lyric with his tail raised above his back, searching for eye contact dominantly.