Cerulean Cape where the moon is made of gold

Coelacanth did not perceive herself as particularly fearsome, so her kneejerk reaction to his kneejerk reaction was to whip around, looking furtively over her shoulder for some lurking terror. Seeing nothing amiss, she turned back toward the full-blooded wolf with a questioning tilt of her head. He sniffed at the meat and prodded it with his nose, and she mistook his suspicion for simple unfamiliarity. Perhaps he had never had sea lion meat before! That was a shame.

“Try it!” she urged him inwardly, unthinkingly sweeping her muzzle in a forward motion as though by doing so, she could will the food into his mouth. When his bright citrine eye met hers, tangling with cerulean and catching hold, she nodded vigorously and repeated the gesture. An encouraging whuff! plumed from her lips like a miniature mushroom cloud. He was so thin and appeared so poorly treated and skittish; she saw in him the memory of herself after her imprisonment at Blackfeather Woods. Dirty and ruined and afraid. Long lashes swept her cheeks as she broke eye contact with an upwelling of residual shame. She worried that he had seen more than she’d meant to share; she was a guileless creature with no talent for hiding her emotions.

Returning her gaze to his after a moment of reflexive self-criticism, Coelacanth allowed her tail to resume its eager fluttering and stretched out on her side with one paw outstretched in what she hoped was an endearing pose. “Please eat,” the whispered whine danced airily from her lips.