Totoka River 그 안에 숨겨진 비밀을 알게된 것 같아

The inky sheepdog cross watched as the stranger — a monochromatic wolf but for the splashes of chocolate fanning his neck and shoulders — waded into the undulating sea and then seemed to rethink his decision, turning back toward the beach until his eyes regarded her with something akin to hunger. His eyes, too, broke the pattern of grayscale with their deep russet hue — and he strode toward her purposefully, his stride painted with regal, almost feline grace. Perhaps she ought to have moved or otherwise readied herself to flee at the intensity she glimpsed in his muddy gaze, but the ingénue could find no reason to fear him. Too, she ought to have looked away — but her dark mood had created a sort of sluggishness that replaced her usual joie de vivre.

“Are you lost?” he asked, breaking the spell, and Coelacanth bestirred herself, rising to her full height as she shook her slender head with careful decisiveness. His voice revealed nothing to her but a bland spattering of compassion that she did not fully understand. She did not shake herself dry but allowed the water to drip freely from her silky fur, beginning a melodic ripple of sound reminiscent of a gentle rain at sea, and offered him a soft whuff of greeting and a respectful dip of her streamlined muzzle. Tilting her head to the side with unabashed curiosity, she gestured past the male to the island beyond, a toneless whine of inquiry whispering from her lips. Had he been there before? Coelacanth had wanted to visit but was loathe to try. It was not that she doubted her ability — the Cortens, not unlike the Cairns, were raised seaside and were accustomed to traveling across great distances by sea. It was a reluctance to leave what had become familiar, more than anything else.

Her ears swept forward upon her skull, cupping forward intently. Being mute, she treasured those wolves that would speak to her despite her inability to give anything back; the names they bestowed upon her and the stories they told healed the rift she felt at never being able to share her true name with wolves outside her father’s pack. Whether she would ever grow close enough to this stranger to be named by him remained to be seen, but she found herself drawn nonetheless to his quiet way and the flat tone of his voice. It was not a beautiful timbre, but it was wholly his, and she treasured it for that reason alone.