Silvertip Mountain this i know: the snow won't fall on me

And as soon as he'd regained his speech, it was suddenly gone, a breathy syllable escaping his lips. So much for that. Phocion kept his smile, but it changed, somewhat, as he registered the look in Cortland's eyes. Adoration, in its purest form. Or perhaps not. Only Cortland could tell him what he saw, truly.

So, not speechless entirely, but only for now. By virtue of the subject, not by a tragic accident.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Phocion asked, for lack of anything better to say. His smile faded. "Sometimes when wolves like another, they like them too much--they like them so much that they aren't afraid to take what they want." Anger like the storm clouds filled his gaze momentarily; it dissipated, but the worry did not, as he stared at Cortland, waiting for his response.