Totoka River you can be an angel of mercy

This post is short and disjointed because I keep falling asleeping in the middle.

He averted his gaze, and Coelacanth felt in the broken communion of their eyes an intolerable sense of loss. Had she been able to utter such a sound, a plaintive noise midway between a whine, a wail, and a yip might have burst in protest from her lips — but only the whine emerged, whisper-soft and fragile as a promise. “I’m Thexxan,” he offered quietly as the moments ticked by, his striking eyes coquettish beneath their winged lashes. The exquisite markings that limned them were unlike anything Seelie had seen before, and shyly she investigated them; her tapered muzzle stretched forth with marked hesitation, held taut to the point of trembling as she breathed deeply of the Doctore’s scent. A tremulous exhale would, if Thexxan endured her nearness, fan warmly across his cheek and lashes, carrying with it the sweet spice of berries.

The little Groenendael repositioned herself, pillowing her silken cheek upon her dainty forepaws to watch Thexxan obliquely, glimmering Neptune eyes soft and warm and trusting. They were a dog’s eyes, eager to please and always just a little bit mournful, and they settled upon the regal gladiator’s handsome visage with rapt attention. Seelie’s ink-feathered tail conjured a miniature snowstorm behind her as she bashfully regarded him; then, lifting her finely-sculpted head and tipping her muzzle skyward, she “sang” for him the only way she could: a long and wandering sigh that twisted and doubled back and leapt still higher with a deft twist of her tongue. When her airy aria drifted into silence, the overwhelming hush swallowing up the stirring whisper like the faraway ocean breakers and the churn of the shallows, she bulldozed another tiny mountain of snow with her snout and again toppled it with a whuff to bury his toes.