Firefly Glen Pulling me under

The female kicked free of the muck with a satisfying squuuuuick! — and her rescuer immediately lost his grip on her scruff with a jarring snap of his jaws, tumbling tail over tip until he flopped to an undignified halt. He was spattered with mud himself and clearly disheveled, but his eerie lantern-yellow eyes blazed with triumph. Her breathless gratitude caught him off guard; “oh,” he said, oversized ears betraying his uneasiness as they splayed out to the sides of his head like a mantling raven, “you’re welcome.” The boy untangled himself, his nerves still raw with the need to locate Lucy, rearranging his long legs into a sphinx-like pose. “Is your neck okay?” He moved toward her, gaze drifting with intent alacrity toward her gunmetal nape, but he stopped just short of touching her for a reason he couldn’t quite explain. Awkward in his adolescence, the scruffy duckling backpedaled a pace or two. “I’m Cypress, from Neverwinter Forest,” he informed her, a hollow quality to his youthful timbre. “What’s your name? Where do you live?” Winter was coming — he made a mental note to ask his father whether their home was immune to it, given its name.