It sounds like a single note held and echoing, spreading far beyond the reach of whatever instrument played it. A great unfolding, like flowers in spring. Sometimes Radar doesn't have the right words for what he hears, but that's the best way he can think to describe it. More space to stretch, to breathe. Relief.

He's smiling, quiet and fond, as he props his elbow on the coop's roof and his chin in his hand. All he does is watch Fever pet the chicken for a little bit.

"You sound a lot happier," he finally offers, soft.