Totoka River you can be an angel of mercy

Barred even the most visceral of vocalizations, the little Groenendael depended heavily on body language to convey what thoughts and feelings she could — and touch was an integral part of that. With Amoxtli she had shared a connection so deeply entwined it had been likened to a shared ESP, and the radio silence of his prolonged absence had given way to a wretched, eternally looping symphony of solitude.

Thexxan’s anxiousness was a palpable, tangible force that assailed the inkdark empath’s bruised heart in emanating waves, and she wanted very badly to comfort him. Her tufted ears pressed timorously against her slender, finely-crafted skull, giving her gentle mien the wide-eyed, smooth-furred appearance of the sea lions she loved, and her feathered tail stirred up a hopeful snowstorm — but her tenderness only seemed to exacerbate the nervousness her new companion felt. Indecision forced her hand; her graceful neck arched as she turned slowly from him to ease his tension, looking numbly out toward the crash of the sea. Marbas’ lesson, thus abandoned, came back to her in a flash of wounded remembrance — do not take liberties with strange wolves! — and desire warred with pragmatism as she battled her own selfishness. Thexxan had offered her no threat — he had not left her alone — he continued to tolerate her ministrations.

The voice was sinister — venomous.

It said: but he does not like you.

Selkie had found purpose in tending her flock and her human, just as Crosscurrent had found purpose in leading his pack — and their wayward daughter, quite evidently without a flock, a human, or a pack, longed for a place of her own. Beyond that, though, she harbored the domestic dog’s obsessive need to be liked.

Turning toward Thexxan abruptly, Izel sought to capture him with a pleading glance — the likes of which had often worked in her favor. Her Neptune eyes glimmered briefly with hope, but she lacked the tenacity of a more assertive female and visibly withered beneath his powder blue gaze. In a last ditch attempt to earn his favor, the inky ingénue got to her paws in one fluid motion, dancing a pace or two away before circling back to him with a quizzical, entreating tilt of her head. Her topline formed an elongated tilde as she bowed to him, and she repeated the gesture in hopes he might follow: bounding a few strides away, then circling back with a tip of her head to the other side. This time, she shimmied backwards a few feet, an airy, toneless whine of invitation causing tendrils of mist to curl from her nostrils and lips.

To her delight, Thexxan followed — and she thought she glimpsed, beyond his veneer of eager-to-please politeness, a pleasure in her company. Whether it was her imagination conjuring something she desperately needed to see or the simple truth was unbeknownst to the sheepdog. What mattered was how they spent their time. She guided him across the river to where he confessed he wished to go and treated him to her treasure trove of ice-encrusted wildberries; and when they finally parted ways, she did not know where she stood — only that he had satisfied the need for companionship, if only for a little while.