Dragoncrest Cliffs i could base my whole existence on the cherry-strands of your gold hair

https://youtu.be/eRPP0k_AGBs?t=116

While Tachyon was in his head reeling over rejection, his hygiene, and his body's pertinence to gravity, the little black she-wolf was completely still hung-up on his foreordained death and her moral quandary: do I stay and become a final course, or do I flee and become karmic mincemeat? As the ashen loner took up the rear, flanking her, she ran the question over and over again in her mind. 

In her right mind, Lucy wouldn't know it if a bus hit on her, but the timing of his ogling was found to be highly inappropriate all things considered. Her aberrant imagination had become so immersed in the scenario of possible ruffians skulking near and the resulting paranoia had triggered some manner of syntrophic crisis, weighing so heavily on her brain that it managed to complete an emotional hydrologic cycle and restored her back to calmness.

As they trod along, Lusca split time between scoping out their surroundings and firing heated glances towards Tachyon as he tagged behind her. She canted her muzzle towards him but kept her eyes fixed dead-on. "Soooooo..." she spoke up asudden; "where's your barrel of monkeys?" Speculating that just maybe this monkey had been kicked out of the circus.