Ankyra Sound If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town.

her scold and wince was met with an apologetic shrinking of his posture—”sorry, sorry,” he drew his ears askance, noting to be more mindful of the lacerations in his cleansing. 

in the interim, there was a hush between them—Lycaon, focused on scouring her for more wounds, and Nyx, unbeknownst to him, mulling over revealing the extent of fertility. 

it was amidst that moment that Wylla strode up, resembling an imperially pissed-off porcupine the way her hackles flared to their ends and anger flushed her gills. Lycaon turned to address her, mouth parted to speak, when she cut him off. you’re calling the wrong wolf, she seethed.

”…..wrong––” he sputtered, lids narrowing to confounded slits as his sister scavenged past with some blethering about coyote overlords hot on her tongue. his brain was, in its present state and with its present knowledge of things, an addled mess; far too much stimuli going in and not enough answers supplied for him to make sense of anything unfurling before his eyes. he shifted his gaze to meet Nyx’s dumbstruck glance.



after a beat he shook his head. ”stop fucking around! i mean it. Nyx is hurt.” Lyc asserted. ”and recently she’s been sick, so help me clean her up.” he said, not taking his sister’s weird remark as being in earnest.