#yska

Fizridge pauses. A rare display of confusion. "Do I ... open it?"

“Yes! And ... yes!” Yska throws her head back with a chirp, her voice positively gleeful. "I spent a lot of time writing things! So I practice. I tried to make it like your signs!" Thyme is practically vibrating beside her, his tongue lolling as he looks to the pair with wide puppy-eyes.

Fizridge looks back down to the card, uncreasing the spine with gentle fingers and lowering his head to peer against the encroaching gloom. He can spy a neatly penned message upon the page: "THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING! Your biggest fan, Yska." A massive list of names spiral out from the center in a winding, handwritten scrawl, snaking across the paper and seeming just about ready to spill off the page. 

The names of his carnies. His pride and joy. His family.

"You said you said you really had just a A Real Day yesterday, so -- I thought this would help! Sage Thyme helped me!"

The gnoll holds up a paw, his tail wagging with unfettered mirth. "Thyme signed with his paw!"

"He did!"

The ringleader gawks at the page, his face alight with rapt, starstruck awe ... time seems to slow, his heartbeat a vicious and loud thing within his ears, before the facade comes crashing down with an ecstatic, elated, LOUD laugh! Soon enough Fizridge is throwing his head back, cackling wildly in such a way that the cacophonous noise carries across the market square.

With no warning the gnome reaches to snare Yska and Thyme into a warm hug, sandwiching himself between his beloved friends and burying his face into the gnoll's neck. His shoulders shake with each successive laugh before they plateau, soft and genuine as he murmurs his thanks.