Sequoia Coast tell me how it is being the sun

This post is bad. I am tipsy.

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When Doe’s behavior began to grow more erratic — a hard thing for Szymon to actually observe firsthand, since she focused on him so readily — the black-banded Cairn began to follow her. He kept his hovering as unobtrusive as he could, a loving sentinel and not a jailer, but he could trust no other wolf with such a task. It would not do for their wolves to suspect weakness of any kind in the Akhlut — and selfishly, the golden-eyed Leviathan believed that only he could bring her back completely when she strayed. Frayed.

Maybe it was true.

Szymon wasn’t far away when Doe’s scream sliced through the crackling winter quiet, and his paws moved so swiftly they had to scrabble for purchase until he got his momentum. His heart rattled uneasily within its cage of bone and flesh as he covered the distance in the blink of an eye, crashing down in the snow on Qilaq’s other side. His scarred muzzle pushed insistently into Qilaq’s snow-dappled coat and followed suit with Doe’s. Only when he was totally satisfied that neither of them were suffering from grave wounds or illnesses did he allow his guard to drop. With a muffled sound deep within his throat, he bent his head to the little girl — she would always be little to him — and began to groom her roughly, forcing warmth and circulation into her limbs. As he worked, a measure of the tension in his lean musculature came undone, and a soft, choking noise slipped weakly from his lips in the form of a whine as he butted his head insistently against the girl, willing her to respond to him. His throat was too thick to allow speech.

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