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

This post feels sort of clunky to me. ;-; I shall sleep now.

Atoll’s Shadow did her best — truly she did — to be a good girl and remain still, but her tortured flesh quavered and flinched with each tender ministration. Obediently she allowed the chewed bundle of yarrow to pass from her lips to the other female’s; with a last grateful brush of her lips and tongue against the cream satin of her friend’s cheek, Seelie set her jaw and closed her seablue eyes. Perhaps if she did not watch, it would not hurt as badly. Yet when Riverbone’s daughter began to gently spread the poultice over the wounds, the sheepwolf’s tiny body took up a convulsive trembling. She bore it as best she could, her slim jaws parting as she began to pant softly — shallow, swift breaths that hitched painfully on each frail intake. The invitation to remain nearby lifted Seelie’s spirits, for with Marbas missing and Amoxtli out treasure hunting, the sweet-tempered Groenendael was apt to become depressed — but Seelie would do as the siren of Tara bade her and allow the salt of the sea to cleanse her, keeping sand and debris from sullying the symmetrical wings of puncture wounds. Her tapered muzzle dipped in a weary nod of understanding.

As Riverbone’s daughter began to speak anew, her Shadow could not help but to nestle more closely against her — an airy, toneless whine of need fluttered from the girl’s lips but was soon replaced by a softly thrumming purr at Atoll’s attentions. Coelacanth, not content to receive without giving, gingerly combed her fangs and tongue through the younger female’s fur — she could not manage much due to the location of her wound, for stretching or craning her neck was quite uncomfortable, but she could not stop herself from trying. Although Seelie’s chosen place was the river where she’d last seen the wendigo who had swallowed Marbas up, she felt safer here with the lemon-eyed, odd-eared siren. At last Atoll’s Shadow gave up her attempts at mutual grooming, a broken whimper of defeat burrowing into the bay wolf’s fur, and rested her head on whatever part of the siren that seemed easiest to reach. Devotion set the girl’s feathery tail to waving but she moved very little; despite the pain, she was content here in the coolness of the shade, pleasantly entangled with the girl she had missed so ardently.