Ravensblood Forest the swirling stream of what is and what was

Coelacanth nosed timorously through the foliage that concealed her, limpid Neptune eyes cast obliquely, beseechingly up at the wolves who dwarfed her in size — little Chusi included. She crept on her tiptoes in a manner that could only be described as skulking, the fluid grace that characterized her gathered into frenetic fits and starts of motion. Recognition bloomed within her pelagic gaze as she beheld the star-crossed couple, blossoming with warmth when she regarded the ocher-eyed foundling and her tall, earthen-hued caretaker. It was so hard to reconcile this harbinger of hellfire with the gentleman who had smiled so benignly at the Den Night — and her feathered tail whisked feverishly in an attempt to appease him and bring him back, stuttering hesitantly against her slim hocks. Her cheeks were chipmunk-stuffed with dried herbs from Doe’s caches, and she approached the bloodied twain with a fair amount of reservation, her tail clamping tight against her high-arched abdomen and her tufted ears pinning tightly against her slender skull.

Gesturing toward the curve of the river with a sweep of her tapered muzzle, she sidestepped gracefully until her paws were swallowed up by its lapping waters. The touch of her chosen element seemed to soothe the inky ingénue, and she deposited the small, fragrant bundle of herbs upon the muddy embankment with doggish understanding and empathy writ upon her delicate features. Her finely-crafted head dipped as her tail danced upon the glistening surface, skipping like a stone as she offered as commanding a whuff as she could muster. It was imperative that the injured wolves bathe the blood away so that she could better assess their wounds, and it would no doubt feel cooling and soothing upon the torn and tattered flesh. Too, the swelling of Olive’s hock was painfully evident — it would be best for her to steep it for a time.