He shouldn’t have been easy to speak to, but Phoebe found herself recounting events to him as one might to a pet or object; she was almost talking to herself as much as she was talking to him. It’s not like he was very conversational. The only real responses she got out of Silver were huffs, until she mentioned Connell. When she told him that Quill knew who had locked him in the trunk–and who had performed the Consumption–a growl surged from his throat. If he was responding so intently…
“Can you talk?”
“Raaaa.” It’d seemed inane to ask, but to her surprise, he yowled a response before the noise devolved into chattering.
Phoebe's hands found their way to his face. The blood on her skin smeared off onto him, adding to the color already present from his messy eating. When he didn’t jerk away she took in the hard texture of his muzzle and, trailing her fingers up, the places where short fur started to cover the bone. Taking another chunk of meat out of the bucket, her hand pressed into his coat while he snatched it up.
She had the smallest desire to grab Silver and give him a shake, for making her hunker down in bed, swimming in her own thoughts; instead her touch smoothed down his neck. But he gave another low growl when she began to scratch him gently, and she retreated.
“You’re really not just some wild animal.” The fact that some level of communication was possible made her relieved, nervous, and angry all at once. He replied with a series of chuffs that Phoebe could only interpret as laughter.
Phoebe making the most descision of all time.
Meanwhile, man, I don't know if I'm ever gonna get to finish this degree. I keep getting screwed over when it comes to my research. A this point I don't know how much I want a job in my field, I just want to wear silly animal costumes.