Totoka River Help me do it myself

A soft ripple of laughter burbled within the sheepdog cross’ throat like the flutter of hummingbird wings; she treasured the small girl’s nearness — cherished it! — for she knew that Chusi would leave her as the others all did, with little hope of finding or being found again. It was Coelacanth’s curse that she loved fiercely and swiftly, with no recourse to asking her occasional companions’ whereabouts or names and no voice with which to call to them. She watched with pride as the ocher-eyed sparrow bounded toward the fish, jumping upon it and biting at it with her needle-like teeth. Her ink-feathered tail whisked encouragement as she “barked” again, a rush of air and a clip of teeth with no force of tone behind it; her forelegs splayed upon the ground as her hindquarters shimmied and bounced. When it ceased moving, Coelacanth tiptoed forward, placing a paw on it and using her incisors to clip a bit of the skin — as though she were a renowned sushi chef, she stripped it back with a flourish, nosing the exposed flesh toward the girl. Fish was not everyone’s favorite food, and Seelie would not be offended if Chusi found it distasteful, but meat was meat.

It was then that she realized Chusi’s attention was fixed on something else — someone else. The lean, rangy male who approached did so with courteous slowness, but Coelacanth felt a surge of innate protectiveness for the little wolf and placed her waiflike, tiny body between Chusi and the stranger with a wary eye. Her finely-sculpted head drew to its full height and she regarded him with a rare curl of lip — warning him back, just in case. She, like Chusi, was made curious by his statement about the Sea, but for a different reason entirely.

The siren of Tara had never outlined Szymon’s appearance, and Coelacanth had no way of knowing that she looked upon her closest and most reliable friend’s intended mate. What she did know was that Atoll, like this wolf, had spoken of the Sea as one might speak of a deity or ruler — the similarity of speech was almost uncanny. Too, the direction from whence he’d come was a telltale giveaway, as was the scent upon his salt-crusted pelt. Seelie could smell the heady brine-and-gunmetal scent of the bay pack’s territory borders and the sweeter smell of Atoll upon his fur. Whoever he was, he knew Hind’s odd-eared daughter — and that meant he was to be respected, if not fully trusted. Still, she stood her ground, posturing with a bravery she did not completely feel as she stared daggers at the male, or tried to. What did he have to say for himself?