Totoka River Help me do it myself

Seelie cannot talk, but hopefully she will suffice? ^^;;

Cloistered within the shadowed sanctuary of her mossy den, sweet with the scent of fresh berries, Coelacanth tenderly brushed the tip of her nose against the newest addition to her living space — the black-barred flight feathers of a snowy gyrfalcon. Then, stretching each leg down to the tips of her nimble toes, she slid out her “side door” and sidled through the waving cotton grass. Already the sun beat down upon her mercilessly, each feathery strand of fur drinking in light and heat until her pale skin fairly burned with it; her slim jaws parted as she began to pant, droplets of berry-sweet moisture collecting at her lips. Then she tilted her head with languid slowness, the muscles of her neck, shoulders, spine, torso, and hips following suit as she slid into the water with the liquid grace of a sea lion. A soft noise of contentment midway between a purr and a sigh bubbled in subdued fashion from her lips as she tilted head, shoulders, spine, torso, and hips in the other direction. Like a slow motion clip of a dog shaking water from its fur, she repeated the motion several times: left, right, left, right, until the snowmelt wrapped her in a shroud of cool comfort.

Born though she was to a sheepdog mother, a creature meant for dales and fells, Coelacanth was her father’s daughter — the first Groenendael in a long line of wolves, the first wolf in a long line of Groenendaels — and a creature meant for rivers, lakes, waterfalls, and most of all, the sea. Without bothering to shake herself dry, the inky sheepdog cross withdrew from the river’s embrace, and picked up her pace, streaming with water, for the sound of puppyish barking and yelling had soundly caught her attention.

It took only a few moments before she spotted the culprit, a gangly puppy whose fur was nearly as dark as Seelie’s, though it was dappled with sterling guard hairs along her spine and a bright patch of white that dazzled her throat. The foundling’s words were brave, and the smirk that shaped her youthful lips was sassier than the atramentous ingénue could ever hope to emulate — still, something protective stirred within the empath, and the child’s bravado rang with a certain disappointment at her failed hunt. Coelacanth knew the feeling well, but could not deny that a failed hunt had been the catalyst that birthed one of her closest friendships in these wilds. She was no Kierkegaard, and would likely be of little use to the small wanderer, but she approached with a friendly — if a bit bashful — manner, her sleek sheepdog physique soaked to the gills and quite tiny, all in all. In a few short months, even Chusi would likely outweigh and overshadow her, being a full-blooded wolf.

Dropping politely to her stomach, Coelacanth tilted her head inquisitively at the little girl, offering a soft, toneless whuff of friendliness. If it was food the girl wanted, Seelie could try to teach her to fish — but large game and even small prey were likely out of reach for now.