Permafrost Hollows i am a man of many hats

Never too far, his friend told him, and he desperately wished he could believe it. The sentiment was not lost on him— it never was— and he resisted the urge to draw close to the wolfdog once more. He worried about smothering him, honestly. Alarian was a boy starved for touch, for affection, for attention in general; it would have been easy to overwhelm one so willing to indulge him.
Yes, He agreed quietly, smiling a little sadly because he knew it would never happen. Never again would he take a dog as a traveling companion— no, Ulf would not travel at all if Alarian could help it. There were some mistakes he only needed to make once. I'd love that.
And then— then, he remembered that his mother would not be there anyway, perhaps none of his family would. All at once, his chest felt torn open, lungs tightening and burning. Tears welled in his eyes, uninvited and absolutely unwelcome to this party— but there nonetheless. He turned his face away, feeling the wetness quickly grow cold in his fur. More than anything, he was embarrassed now— but he could not speak, could not change the subject. His throat felt thick and constricted.