Swiftcurrent Creek you call out

As he groomed her, Haunter suddenly felt an unfamiliar warmth against his shoulder and then his chest. His body tensed for a moment and then relaxed against the pleasantness of it, and didn't cease to gently tend to her. Fox's touch was entirely foreign, but not in any way unwelcome. She touched none of his fresher scars, but rather very old ones, long overgrown with his dark fur. He felt strangely self-conscious about his ruined body, but the small female didn't seem to mind, and he did not stop her.

She was young, irritatingly young, so he felt no carnal desire to have her in that way. But there was a feeling inside his chest—one newly stirring, freshly boiling—that consisted of a possessiveness he could not quite explain, even to himself. His tongue returned to its home for a moment, and he pressed his muzzle tenderly into the side of her neck, just briefly, and just so that he could draw her pleasant moon-like gaze into his unpleasant, sunny one.

"As long as I'm near, I will not let anything like this happen to you again.. Fox." His low, raspy voice was punctuated with a growl. He didn't know what he was promising, but he now found himself wanting to stay, forgetting all about the creeping spring-time and his earlier indication of abandonment. Right now, there was only Fox, and he lowered his head to press his long muzzle into the sweet crook of her chin and neck just to make sure that she, and this moment was real.