Lion Head Mesa because of you

"that's what ah fear!" the male yapped, distraught. "but he ain't s'pposed to! he's got a-a-a wounded body n a bad leg n all the frality o' health o' a flower in winter!" he paced in place, looking every which way, still holding onto that thin and continuously thinning hair of hope that the man would leap out behind a boulder any moment now.

the question was so sudden, so odd, so out-there, that the little man froze as two of his legs were lifted off the ground. 

it took him a moment to rewind the last second or so and confirm with his brain that yes, he was just asked his age.

lowering his hovering paws, he turned his head to face the woman. she had that terrible facial wound that might've contributed to him avoiding eye contact at first, not wishing to stare, and yet by lowering his gaze he was greeted by a fused, defective front paw - but besides that, she looked fine.

(for a wolf, he had to remind himself.)

"ma'am." he spoke flatly. "ah am four years o' age."

wasn't it obvious?