pure sweet violent hearts

"I think that's what I am," Bhreac said. Then paused, shaking her head as he approached the edge of the water. "I mean, I'm not, but my name is. It means speckled, or something. It was my great grandmothers, or something. She was that — Gaelic." She took a few steps into the water, without really thinking about waiting for an answer, when she heard him speak.

She paused for a moment, considering relenting and finding something else to do, or otherwise taking her leave of him just out of a desire not to make his night any more unpleasant, but after a few moments of consideration, she stepped further out into the water and turned around to face him, wagging her tail.

"No time like the present, eh?" Bhreac said. "If you're willing, I'm sure we can sort it out." Not that she had the slightest idea how to teach somebody to swim. Not that she was a particularly strong swimmer herself — she'd lived in Dry Canyon, for fuck's sake. But there had been a small, shallow lake nearby, which they'd played in on hot days. With a small smirk, she added, "mind you, the proper response was 'no, Bhreac, you're not a bummer at all."