Sea Lion Shores your heart will fly on wings forever in never never land

Coelacanth obeyed without question or demur when the siren of Tara retrieved a feathery bundle of green and placed it before her; though her tiny body trembled involuntarily with pain, throbbing fissures of heat fanning outward from her chest and throat, she carefully chewed the yarrow as she was bidden. Its flavor, subtly sweet with just a faint tang of bitterness, could only be classified as vegetal — Seelie found it interesting at best, but it washed from her sullied mouth the taste of blood — my blood or his? — which granted her a welcome respite. Now she could kiss her odd-eared savior, and when the sand-dappled girl leaned in to rub her cheek against Seelie’s blood-and-salt crusted one, the little Groenendael did exactly that — pert pink tongue shifted the bundle of plant matter to tuck neatly into the pouch of her cheek as she shyly licked the underside of the younger female’s sharp, coyote-like muzzle and nibbled at her cheek.

The inky ingénue had no answer for Riverbone’s daughter’s growing anger — her guilty dog’s conscience told her that indeed she did deserve Marbas ire; he had told her again and again the day they’d met that he was not to be touched so freely, but she had found herself unable to obey. It was a complicated feeling to have, for although Seelie felt she was at fault, she retained the hope that one day — hopefully one day soon — she would be able to fix it. It was not within her to feel indignant at the fact that justified her action — she had thought he was dead, after all — and so she merely shook her head. Do not worry. I am well! The protest of her chest and neck at this motion stopped her gesture short, but the thought of this female with her lemon-yellow eyes and dusky gray fur clasped in battle with Marbas’ larger, more formidable, certainly lethal frame wrung an involuntary protest from her. No! A soft, toneless whine billowed from her lips as her stricken seablue eyes ardently sought Atoll’s face. She should not tempt the battle-hardened wolf. She should not come to hurt for any reason, let alone on her Shadow’s behalf. Stay with me. Only stay with me.

The little sheepwolf continued to chew the yarrow — its flavor was no longer interesting, but merely something to be endured, though this in itself was a distraction — and despite the new ripples of pain that sent quivering shockwaves through her body as Atoll tenderly laved her wounds, she felt her lithe frame sway with exhausted weariness. Carefully, she curled her slim haunches into a demure seated position, keeping her forequarters as still as she possibly could to avoid moving the aggravated muscles.