Falls of the Hinterlands Brightest Dark

The cream and cloud siren seemed to lose herself in song, her bright yellow eyes faraway and luminescent with the reflection of each moonbow; Coelacanth found herself entranced, scarcely daring to breathe lest she ripple the water and cause the song to end. Her own voice, trapped in a prison cell of scar tissue and emptiness, swelled within her breast with no outlet — and she felt anew the exquisite pain that sometimes ruled her. “Can you hear them, Shadow?” questioned the siren, and Seelie’s ears flicked forward to catch each coveted syllable as she burrowed in close, nestling her muzzle in the songstress’ fur. Even with the music gone, the rhythmic lilt of the odd-eared female’s voice was a comfort.

As though Coelacanth herself had written the script for this little tableau, reassurance spilled from the siren’s jaws. In an effort to repay the girl for the kindness she sorely needed, Seelie set forth with a will, preening the silver fur and its dusky red guard hairs with soft, toneless murmurs of affection. Love came quite easily to the sheepdog cross, and she could not help but place her yearning heart between her newfound friend’s fangs to keep or discard at her will. Shadow, the siren had said. It was the first new name Coelacanth had received since arriving at these strange lands, and she tucked it away in her heart to treasure and selfishly keep.