Off Kilter

His eye flitted down to her tail as it lashed in a near instant show of annoyance; his brow rose, and inwardly, Mikko braced himself for the possibility of adding another tally to his list of failed wolves. Several more, even. Was he about to lose his place again? Stripped of the already flimsy rank given to him by Shiba's niece out of his obligation to the silver healer? Hells, perhaps it had already been taken from him; perhaps it was only Shiba's presence preventing another from naming him a trespasser and dragging him into a den. Or perhaps they'd made him Shiba's to claim. Regardless of what was about to happen, he expected it not to be good, but the glutton he was, he was prepared to embrace whatever punishment came his way.

Over time, words had come to sting more than any wound upon his hide ever could, and with Shiba's back to him, he allowed himself to flinch, his jaw to clench, as his gaze drifted away and to the side. He almost would have preferred that they'd done what she described. "Nearly...but no." He blinked and turned to look at her again. Well, her back. Lungs filled with and released a heavy sigh, then, as he took a few steps forward to plop down at another point on the ledge. "They went right for my head." Not nearly as good of an excuse--or as impressive of a story--but honesty was easier on his tired mind than the effort that went into maintaining a wall.

"But if not for your skill, it probably would've been someone else digging through my rotten corpse"--he lacked the energy for unprompted explanations, but if she questioned it, he'd elaborate--"so consider my debt to you doubled."

""