Tychon halted, stiff, his nose twitching, he ears forward. There was a wolf coming at him. She was leggy, and in the night, her white paws glowed as they flashed over the snow. He recognized the fur color, but was uttering astonished at her height. That couldn’t be Masque? She was taller than he was! Only by an inch… but still! Despite his astonishment, his damn tail waved. He wasn’t that happy… His eyes rounded as she leaped for him. He flinched a little. It was akin to the bounce produced by a hiccup. However, he remained stationary.

Masque’s slew of questions caused his eyes to round. Tychon felt like crawling back to his den. He’d forgotten the true scope of her overwhelming enthusiasm. Being stunned into silence, he watched her quivering body, barely containing it’s urge to lick him. How? Why? He just… was ugly? She on the other hand, had elegantly grown into her puppy ears, so it didn’t make any sense. Wait. Tychon’s ears shifted backwards at his observation. He felt sick from the conflict of a) being overwhelmed and b) happy to see her. It was making his brain to think stupid things. He’d have handled it better if she had yelled at him; why was she so cheerful? Last time they’d seen each other, he had snarled at her.

A gruesome grin attached itself to his lips. “I, uh… Hey Mas…” Tychon said, his voice dying into a rough hiss. His brow knit together in worry and harsh memory. For just instant, caught in her cheer… he had forgotten the damage to his voice. His eyes shifted in distress and his chest heaved with brief, uncontrolled frustration. His remaining lips pinched together to contain the wave of emotion. Then, he whispered in order to produce a better answer, “I’m fine. Just… not much voice left.” He had more to say… but there wasn’t much he could do to make his vocal cords work better. He waited for his vocals to readjust. It seemed too long; he wanted to be able to speak like he used to. He liked talking… now it hurt to.

“You?” he ended - ignoring her “why” question. He didn’t want to answer that. It would make him sound pitiable. He didn’t want to appear helpless. He’d already been that twice, and it left a vicious tear in one’s locus of control and he didn’t have much of one left.