Gu Ning had never seen Barto look like this before, and she froze.
Her hands were ice-cold, but the little fox's tears were scalding hot. His face was burning up, melting the thin layer of snow caked on it. The water mixed with his tears, soaking a patch of his skin. His defiant expression made it hard for her to tell if his face was wet with tears or melted snow.
Even when he cried, the fox looked stubborn, proud, and defiant. No matter how wronged or hurt he felt, he would never admit to his own tears.
"WOOF!"
Cook had appeared by their side at some point. He nudged her gently, then rested a paw on her hand. "Ning, Bar... good. No fight."
Barto slowly clenched one of his hands into a fist, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it at Cook's head. "Go away."
His voice was unnaturally calm, devoid of anger or irritation, yet it was as fragile as a balloon on the verge of popping.
Gu Ning pushed his hand down.
