Azrael and the Prisoner

"Something the matter, Azrael?" I ask in mock concern, pulling my face down into a belittling pout at the clear discomforting shifting on Azrael's sullen face. Azrael's eyes narrow further.

"No, I was just admiring what an extensive range of vocabulary your fox friend seems to be shouting in my head. It is quite the racket," he says through his teeth, face contorting into a pained grimace despite his best efforts to appear wilfully unbothered. I do my best to hide the mocking smirk that has begun to stretch the corners of my mouth. 

"Yes he is quite amazing, an excellent guard, a fighter too," I say, glancing down at Ithuriel, who stops short for a moment to give me what must have been a smile, if a fox could smile. His two-toned eyes beam with joy, a firm proudness glittering in their depths.