Ankyra Sound the thistle and the burr

luckily for lycaon, ingram wasn't dead yet -- at least not physically. maybe a little bit on the inside, like a smidgen -- ever since chusi had set her sails and departed for better, less frothy shores. the days following had left ingram dejected and more pathetic than his squishy-self normally was -- at this point, he was on a tachyon-after-lusca-rejection level of PERSONAL SADNESS.

a little dramatic, but if his haunches were hurting him, his feelings were smarting much more. he hadn't deliberately put distance between wylla and lycaon, it had just happened that way -- in a way that was wildly and disproportionately convenient for ingram, since he didn't want them to see him in his mopey state and ruthlessly hold it over his head. he had already had enough torment when his paramour had been rudely ejected from grimnismal with the prompt, hawkish attention a child would give a lego.

lycaon's calls did not rally his spirits and he tried to shuffle into a lope, his ears pinned as lycaon caught up to him. it was too much exercise for the fattest of the luschyon brood to do anyway, and he plopped into the ground with heavy breaths. "What!?"