Sunbeam Lair my face will be painted in these white brick lines

The ache in his head is distracting, and the other wolf goes unnoticed until his thickly-accented voice cuts through the air, startling him. His gaze finds the strange wolf almost immediately, though he has to turn his head slightly to one side to fully see him, and the familiarity of the dark-coated wolf strikes him in force. He blinks, struggling to put a name to the ashen features and captivating lilac stare; he's almost reminded of Midar. And the other must know him, given the way he'd addressed him — right?
He realizes he hasn't done a thing except blink in response, and his ears flush a little. I um — Mahler. A flash of a memory: a conversation half-remembered (I'm a murderer), patchy recollections of a hunt. Then, another — a field this time, the thick scent of infection and the sickly flavor of herbs. He launches into another coughing fit. He turns his face away from Mahler instinctively as he coughs, wincing a little at the deepening ache in his head. The coughing dies quickly this time, and he reaches desperately for something to say, unwilling to admit that he hardly remembers the wolf in front of him. I don't want to get anyone else sick. He says as he glances back toward Mahler, realizing belatedly how handsome the man is and flushing a little more.