Fell narrows his eyes at Nyimara’s taunts, but they’re hardly cutting; if she’d wanted him to hurt him, there’d be no question. He offers only a roll of his shoulders about getting in over his head. Sure, he has a rattling and snarling box of feelings and memories in the corner of his mind, within a mile of which he will not tread if he can help it at all, but other than that.. the Bay is peaceful, for once. Relatively.

The next thing she says takes Fell off guard, and he blinks once in confusion. His brow furrows. There is, he knows without a doubt, only one person she could be talking about.

Before he can respond, he is made aware of Canis when his brother speaks up. Fell had not paid attention to the sounds of his approach; he was used to the grullo’s quieter nature, but now he looks over as the other stallion joins them.

Fell can’t express that he knows who Nyimara means — at least one party, and he has a healthy guess as to the other one — so he looks back to the silver-maned mare with wide, burning eyes. His brow is furrowed heavily over the embers of his irises, and his ears flick back to press into his coarse mane. He isn’t entirely sure why he’s upset — Fell wasn’t exactly a favored child, and while Rougaru had never been cruel to him or rejected him, he’d always felt inherently like an outsider. Still, part of him had always hoped the old wolf would notice his notoriety, and maybe even express pride for it, even if Fell never heard it himself. Perhaps it was the sudden, firm end to that fantasy (silly as it was) that upset him so. The chances of such a thing happening had been slim, but not zero, until now.

Agitated, he snaps his tail against his dark flanks. Nyimara had gestured to the Cove, to Solomon, earlier, and Fell gazes in that direction now as he waits for his sister to fill Canis in. Then he paws the ground once to gain their attention, and dips his head.

His torn ear emerges from where it had been pressed against his mane, flicking once or twice as the hairs irritate the scarred flesh.

"Xio," he croaks, the x sound reduced in his broken speech to an s. “Mara,” he finishes, just in case. He doesn’t think he needs to specify Solomon’s Xiomara, so he only glares in the direction of the Cove again. He had become certain in the time since the attack that Solomon had sent the blue roan mare to him, and the insult of this conclusion (that Solomon would have sent a mercenary instead of confronting Fell himself) stained him despite the relative peace in the Bay as of late. It was a black mark in his mind, but now there was something he could do about it.