Totoka River tomorrow will be kinder

With her small body made smaller by the tight, defensive way she had coiled herself and her gleaming fangs bared in a growl that trembled with the force of her fear, Coelacanth seemed more kitten than predator — but the intent of those fangs was very, very real. It must be confessed that she was the sort of creature with whom less was truly more — any sort of forcible restraint seemed to kindle within her a maelstrom of panic, and her sensitive nature made even a harsh word as hurtful as a slap. She watched as pink-tinged saliva dribbled from his frowning mouth — pink-tinged with her blood — and the throb of pain rendered her helpless to rationalize the situation. Her submissive nature decreed that she had nosed a sleeping wolf and licked his wound; of course he had attacked her; of course she was deserving of retaliation. Yet she could not forgive him so soon, not even when the low, sorrowful cry pooled from his mouth. Perhaps, in that moment, she wished to take his voice from him and mend her own — but even if she had it, she would not have known how to wield it.

It was not in her nature to covet so enviously things that were not hers.

He answered the question she could not ask, but it gave her nothing — she hurt and she was lost and lonely and afraid, and this time there were no intravenous methods of alleviating that hurt or blurring that distress with the glue-like fog of sedation. He promised not to hurt her. He pleaded — Marbas pleaded — though whether it was with his Siren or himself, she could not say. She softened at the sound of her name, stammered out weakly, from a wolf whose weaknesses she had yet to uncover or understand. It was his name for her; it meant she meant something to him, however insignificant. And although she wished the wolves of these wilds could call her the name that she loved above all other names — Coelacanth! Seelie! — she cherished each set of odd syllables that she was given, for they were hers alone. She ceased her growling, though the look in her eyes remained the shocked and tear-blurred eyes of a dog who has learned for the first time what it is to be reprimanded and beaten.

She saw the wave of water coming and ought to have moved — thought she had moved — but the haze of shock and sorrow knocked her off her paws as it did the Cairn wolf, and she danced a few uneven, stuttering steps before succumbing to it completely. She was pulled under and battered against rock and sand, and when she broke surface a few suffocating seconds later, she found herself caged beneath a structure she hadn’t noticed before. Pillars on each corner — dripping with salt — it took a moment to register that she’d resurfaced directly under the wolf who had injured her so and she took immediate offense to his nearness despite its serendipitous nature. The growl began again as she attempted to escape him, but their limbs tangled in an arachnid’s web of pain and panic.