Stavanger Bay at tara in this fateful hour

Doe gazed up at the pale wolf, tracking over his narrow features, sliding down the dark marking on his sides, the luminous yellow of his eyes. Pretty, she thought, still somewhat dazed. He was a pretty wolf, with a pretty pelt, pretty eyes, pretty markings. She liked the narrowness of his muzzle - not like a coywolf's, but very much like her own countenance at the same time.

"I like you," she said to Sy - having forgotten or perhaps ignored the rest of his name. Her tail wagged a little more feircely as she realized that she did. "My name's Doe. Or Doctor, I think. Doctor Doe, maybe."

Sand flew up around her as her tail wagged faster still. All at once, she sprang to her feet, spininng in the air even as she bounded away, stopping several feet from her new friend and slapping her paws to the ground in a playful bow. Come and get me, Sy, she panted, forgetting her fatigue once again. She would sleep when she was dead - for now, the hysterical energy of almost dying, finally eating, nearly fainting, and meeting this new friend was fueling her movements. Doctor felt as though she could run for days and never tire, although, if she had tried to do so, she would've found herself collapsing after half a mile or so.

But for play, Doe always had energy.