Sea Lion Shores What immortal hand or eye

If Coelacanth had been reincarnated as a character in a tournament style sparring game, she would’ve been cast as the first opponent — easy mode — a skinny, ribsy wisp of a pinweight that you’re pretty much expected to beat. So, when the full-blooded wolf leaned in, her taller frame tumbling the tiny Groenendael right off her feet, Seelie went down easy. A stronger or more tenacious opponent might have put up more of a fight, but the sheepdog had always enjoyed being at the slightly squashed bottom of a good, old-fashioned pile-on. She savored the feeling for a moment — it reminded her of her cousins and her brother — and then enthusiastically retaliated.

Niamh’s unconventional methods held merit — surely, all fighting styles did! — but left her belly and throat open to attack. Of course, Coelacanth would do no such thing! — but the selkie’s daughter couldn’t help poking and prodding with her cold, damp nose in an attempt to find the blonde beachcomber’s ticklish spots. How lovely she was! The sheepdog, giddy with the spice of the season, couldn’t help but admire: how supple and tensile was her friend’s lean musculature! — how soft and cream-fair was her fur! — but despite seeing and feeling what could not, now, be unseen or unfelt, her demeanor did not change and her expression did not alter. Once she tested her “opponent” for purported weakness, she would attempt to hop up and dance away.