Nova Peak If you must mourn, don't do it alone

Clownfeet were loud, even if the rain was coming down in full force. Stag's expression softened as Wylla registered he was present; his ears flattened subserviently and his posture shifted downwards.

Wylla surprised him by dipping her head and ears in turn -- this earned a subtle beat of the boy's tails by his hocks as he watched her seriously, waiting for her to take that first bite as if it would suddenly pack on all the pounds again and cure Wylla of the malaise of sadness and exhaustion that seemed to as of late distill that fiery spark she was known for. He bit his lip as she spoke up, expecting her to argue -- instead she asked after his father.

At first Stag looked visibly crumpled -- then confused -- then suddenly suspicious -- and then, finally, catching onto the joke late, a strange concoction of relieved and reluctantly bemused. Wylla was eating by now, so his initial misgivings faded away. "He did." Stag thought back on their first meeting with a mixture of fondness and irritation (directed at Zarya, of course). "Do you think she is dead yet? That wolf, I mean."