There was something undeniably irritating for Anther, about the fact that his words were forcibly stunted into nothing more than hisses, growls, snorts and the odd crooning purr that he might let slip when Thæon said or did something amusing.
But they were the wrong “words” —if he could even call them words—for any medium of understandable conversation, despite Anther’s attempts, and he couldn’t share this frustration with Thæon, because, well, Thæon had made it remarkably clear that he couldn’t speak a lick of ‘dragon’ and Anther’s muzzle has already protested towards the common tongue on numerous occasions.
(He could still roar and yell and shout and make all manner of noise that would allude to the deeper emotions he was feeling, but they were ultimately useless when trying to convey anything other than anger or frustration; an emotion Anther was feeling too much of these past few days.)