Dawnlark Plains well the sun don't shine

There was something about the man - a goodness that Fus could not wholly wrap his head around - that made the northerner certain he'd found a place with the right people. Shale had thrown him, somewhat, with his starveling features and burning eyes, but meeting Aditya had smoothed over all his worries. The tawny man stepped aside in welcome, and Fus stepped toward him with his head bowed, tail whisking and ears splayed to either side.

"Fus," he replied, settling a paw over the lamb's body. "Where should I put this, Aditya?" The name tripped him up for a moment, but he didn't embarrass himself by mispronouncing it or stuttering. Even though addressing the man as such sent and odd ripple down his spine. It was the beginning, he thought. This would not be the last time he would ask for direction, for orders. Tell me what to do, and I will do it. Somehow - with his eyes, with his smile, with the sun the gleamed off the cinnamon in his pelt - he had won Fus's allegiance.