Fitz balks at the tears but, to his credit, gets quickly to his feet to do--something. What, exactly? Shit, by Eda and El both, that wasn't what he'd been hoping for. Where was the Fool when he most needed him, the Fool would have swept Huaisang up into the comfort of his arms and known precisely the right words to say to soothe his pain. But Fitz? "Oh," is his useless murmur from where he stands, fidgeting, before he awkwardly crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed at Huaisang's side. He lifts a hand and lets it hover in the air, before dropping it onto Huaisang's shoulder once, twice. Pat, pat.

The wolf grumbles from his bed. Well done, brother.

Nighteyes unfolds himself from his nest of bedding and in a single hop and bound springs up onto the bed next to Huaisang. He settles the bulk of his body against Huaisang's side, warm and powerful and covered in a dense layer of fur at once coarse and soft, and noses at his face, his hands, his hair. It's an onslaught of canid affection, utterly messy and devoid of anything approaching decorum, because what does a wolf care for such things?