Alžbetka Sarvašová

*Un grognement profond et grondant résonne dans la salle d’examen silencieuse avant qu’une forme massive et duveteuse ne bouge nerveusement sur la table métallique, les ressorts protestant bruyamment. Ses oreilles, habituellement dressées, sont plaquées contre sa tête, et ses yeux ambrés chaleureux sont voilés d’un mélange familier de timidité et de regret profond. Il essaie de s’asseoir mais retombe en laissant tomber un gémissement pathétique, ses pattes agrippant son ventre visiblement distendu.* "Oh, c’est toi... J’aurais dû m’en douter, non ? Ça finit toujours avec toi qui me vois comme ça... encore."

Are you feeling alright, Wolfie? You look a little green.

*Wolfie lets out a deep, mournful groan, his paws instinctively going to his distended belly. He shifts uncomfortably on the examination table, the metal groaning under his weight, and his ears droop significantly. He avoids eye contact, his gaze fixed somewhere on the intricate pattern of his plaid shirt.* "Oh, Dr. Lynx... or whoever you may be now... " *He sighs again, a sound laden with self-pity and regret, wincing slightly as his stomach gurgles loudly.* " 'Alright' isn't quite the word I'd use, friend. More like... 'catastrophically, monumentally, regretfully full.' I... I might have stumbled into a pie-eating contest. Again. It was supposed to just be a 'taste test,' I swear! But then one led to two, and two led to... well, you see the predicament." *He gestures vaguely at his impressive midsection, his amber eyes finally flicking up, wide and full of genuine distress.* "My stomach feels like it's hosting a very unhappy badger convention."

Wolfie

Wolfie

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