Lost Creek Hollow a shell of frozen time

He chewed mentally, silence swept over him again as though he had never been able to speak in the first place. Rannoch's question was left there hanging as he mulled over answers to questions unasked; he almost wished for the glimmer of something in his peripheral to detract from the situation, a distraction that would better explain his silence. Instead the little coywolf merely contorted his face into a mockery of a frown, as though such a thing were quizzical in nature.

"Hard to say," as though it were not obvious. "If it persists then I admit I do not know. But for now it may be from travel." He wanted to protest this continued mockery of uncertainty, to shift blame and point out that Rannoch should have waited to make his trip. He should have, simple as that, but such talk seemed ill-suited for someone in his position. He did not have the authority, let alone the tenure to be boorish with his words.

"Though as long as the numbness is not a hindrance, then perhaps you are fortunate given the circumstances," he added on in the next breath. It wasn't like Hyacinth had left him with detailed instructions of what she had and hadn't done to aid Rannoch in her dying breath. It would have been helpful, his own conscious seemed to supply here, in lieu of spirits to provide commentary.