Ankyra Sound Tragedies with penniless fountains

The boy's narrow shoulders grew taut as Mahler sought the earth, and every youthful line of his face was edged with tension. What now? Understanding didn't come easily to the coywolf child, who hadn't been socialized with his pack as well as he ought to have been and was still ignorant of all the nuances of body language. Some of it came naturally. Mahler's lower position was enough to loosen the cub's shoulders up, at least. The ears pressed back meant something like peace to him, a motion he or his siblings took turns at when play grew too rough. He wasn't learned enough to comprehend the expression in the adult wolf's eyes, however.

Without a grasp on words or a familiar breath with which to convey them, Ephraim had very little means of communicating with his pack mates, the gargoyle included. They ended up simply staring across the way at one another, with his posture marginally relaxed from moments earlier. He made a sound in his throat, a sort of low grumble mixed with a soft whine, that seemed to say please leave me be, but it wasn't tinged with maliciousness so much as uncertainty. Mahler's first impression hadn't been good. His second impression was better, but Ephraim was still unsure of where they stood with one another and he had not the means to speak yet, so he took to his feet with flighty steps and began edging back toward the grotto, giving the well-meaning male a wide berth.