The fox's ears swiveled forward, and its mouth opened, and I braced myself for another mangled attempt.
"Mel," it said gently, and I smiled.
"Yes," I said. "Mel. If you are linked to me and I don't finish what I need to do soon, then you will get to hear her voice every morning."
The fox appeared a bit confused before repeating her name three more times, each time clearer and closer to the original. Then it stopped, tilted its head, and said, with perfect, eerie accuracy, "Lazy cur."
I sighed. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"
The fox blinked, and I could have sworn it was smiling. Its tail curled around my wrist, light as a feather, and through the link I felt something that was almost like contentment.
"Come on," I said as I stood up. "We have work to do."
The fox hopped off my chest and landed on the cot with a soft thump. It stretched, its silver fur rippling in the grey morning light, and the half-moon above its head pulsed as if in acknowledgment.
