Mouldy was going to irritate the shit out of Tychon by the end of whatever trial period they were putting him through - Ty. Pft. It made him sound like he was a yearling again. He expressed his displeasure through a silent glare through the rest of the proceedings. His capture’s sharp words didn’t dissuade Tychon’s attitude. He bared his teeth briefly at the young male, thinking that if he tried to shove his ideals of properness onto Tychon that he’d give him an earful of his uncouth attitude.

However, Tychon’s unpleasant tongue was kept in check by the searing gaze of Daenerys. There was a sense of… dread he felt when her met her eyes. Like the sword she reminded him off, she sliced at his ego with vicious exactness. His jaw clenched in fury at the mention of his ailment, but truth couldn’t be denied. His lips mashed together in displeasure and he gruffly turned his gaze away from her with a unwilling consent to her bluntness. She’d ripped his prideful facade off, and exposed his damnable need. He fucking needed help. The words were bitter on his mind and made him want to crawl into a den and never come out.

The young brown male didn’t give further recognition to Her Majesty’s words. She’d won, and Tychon hated that. Respected it, but hated it. He turned his amber eyes on the paths up the mountain side, thinking it looked claustrophobic. His fur bristled, but as Daenerys left, so to did Tychon march towards his fate. He was limping because of the overuse of his leg, but it didn’t slow him much. When they’d traveled up the mountain a bit and Tychon had swallowed the situation, he asked his guard, “Alright, Mouldy. Where to first?”