Duck Lake are you worth your weight in gold, cause you're behind my eyelids when i'm all alone

Alarian didn't speak until his forelimbs were mostly dry; it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, from his perspective. He was oblivious to the other's brief scrutiny of his condition, for better or worse. Mostly, he thought it was nice to have company— Mahler was not the warmest of wolves, but he was... alive, breathing. That was enough.
You know, He began almost lazily when the urge to break the silence finally struck him. His thoughts went to Ulf. I don't think I look anything like a mouse. Alarian wasn't offended; his tone was more playful than anything, though muted by his lethargy. Little mouse, he mused to himself for the billionth time since learning the word's meaning. He didn't look at all like a mouse!