He hears her laughter like birdsong above the nervous electrical hum; hears something else flicker, and be shoved away before it becomes truly audible, like the distant grumble of a jeep passing by. Radar couldn't chase after it even if he wanted to. He doesn't know how, and might not ever learn.

Besides, knowing what he knows about Fever, he doesn't want to hear it. If it's another one of those awful thoughts she can't control, it's not gonna do anybody any good if he overhears. The way the thought goes small and quiet and too far away to pick up means she's probably doing that thing she's been doing all along: hiding it for Radar's benefit. Trying not to scare him.

It's a kindness, he figures. Not a trick.

"Most horses like that kind of stuff," he says. Danforth stretches his neck to try and lip Fever's shirt. "Apples, carrots, berries, sugar cubes -- oh, if you get peppermint sticks at Ambrose's shop I bet the horses you're working with'll love 'em. Here, I got the rest of the apple if you wanna give him more -- "

Danforth snorts and starts trying to nibble Radar's shirt instead.