Totoka River Hummingbird, just let me die

Thank you for the thread!

The gulls soon tired of the game and took wing, whirling higher and higher toward the sun until they blocked out the light in a flurry of winged silhouettes. Whimsically, Coelacanth hoped they would grow too close and fall again to the earth in the form of rotisserie chicken — a rare delicacy she and Amoxtli had only been allowed to try once, when they were imprisoned in the cabin after the terrifying experience at the animal hospital. Licking her lips at the delectable memory of crispy, crackling skin and moist, succulent meat, she dipped her muzzle respectfully as the dark wolf made a dignified, businesslike departure. From this vantage point she could see the dusty quality of his pelt and the fading of his charcoal pelt along his muzzle; automatically she catalogued his scent, her bright eyes finding a unique charm in the wolf despite the physical evidence of hardship that marked his thin frame.

The dappled wolf turned to Coelacanth then and splayed his forelegs in a playful bow, dashing off the birds which had landed a short distance away — none of them, Seelie lamented, in rotisserie chicken form. She liked this wolf, whose pelt reminded her of gyrfalcons — and, if she reached further back in her memory, the sheep her mother had guarded so fiercely — and was all too eager to follow him, resuming the game. When they parted ways, the sheepdog cross felt a pang of sorrow — she did not know his name, and the odds were good that she never would. Friendship was a poignantly evanescent affair for the girl who could neither call for her companions nor ask that they come to see her without express and intensive effort on both ends. A soft whine, toneless and airy, spilled from her muzzle as she watched the wolf go. Then she collected in her mouth a few glistening wing feathers for her beloved brother — thank all the gods for Amoxtli, without whom Coelacanth would have been lost! — as she returned to their salt-crusted home.