Swiftcurrent Creek Andaran atish’an

Fenrith blinked up at the bristling wolf, his grin faltering as the accusation landed squarely.

Noseblind. Yeah, that wasn’t exactly something he could argue with. For a moment, he stayed quiet, pinned like a rabbit beneath a hawk’s talons, before an awkward laugh bubbled up—light and shaky.

Then he shrunk back, fearing the brute might think Fenrith were laughing at him.

“Uh… yeah,” he admitted, brown eyes darting sideways before sheepishly coming back to meet that icy, indignant glare. He nodded slowly, a little too exaggerated to be serious. “Like… completely. Haven't sniffed a thing since I was small.”

He grows quiet beneath the man, bristling like a trapped prey animal, awaiting death. As if he's expecting it, his eyes squeeze shut—his breath growing still. Maybe if he can't see the brute, the brute can't see him either.