Otatso Wetlands sandhill

He managed a brief flash of a wry, tired half-smile, if only to acknowledge the humor in Wildflower's eyes. Joke or not, however, that was exactly what Tybault ended up doing: watching him eat.

It didn't feel as awkward as it sounded. At least, not to him. Instead he found himself distracted by the little details he hadn't noticed before. The rose-gold tinge to his muzzle, the flecks of it here and there among the moon-silver of his fur. The tall ears and the delicate taper of his mouth. The taut shoulders, loosening slowly.

Somewhere in watching him, Tybault had settled again. He looked away abruptly, ears heating as he became aware of the open admiration behind his own gaze. What the fuck was wrong with him?