Fox's Glade five six seven eight

Miserable sniffling was interrupted by the recognition, somewhere in his less than bright mind, that there was another here. He glances up and instantly recoils, the wolf's face is split by an unsightly scar. Starting slowly, but rising in pitch and volume, a squeal bursts from his lungs, eyes huge. But when, after a moment, the beast does not attack him, and rather approaches unthreateningly, Cyron musters up the brief courage to say, haltingly, "You - you have a ouchie"  The proclamation is half-reassurance, this is no monster, but instead a wolf with an unsightly scar. But even this statement, said aloud, fails to reassure him totally, and he starts to allow another screaming squeal to build and fall from his muzzle as he rapidly scuttles backward, tripping over himself, terror in his gaze. Cyron was never the bravest, or the brightest, of his littermates.