Panther Park fish in the sea of galilee

This post is no good. ;-; Sorry!

In loneliness, in desperation, the tiny sheepdog wandered. Without a leader to follow, and with three young lambs to care for, she felt totally at a loss. The bay was utterly empty save for the atramentous ingénue and her unlikely brood, and although she often traveled far and wide in search of them, the black-banded Leviathan and his odd-eared Akhlut were nowhere to be found. Her days were honed down to three activities: searching for Doe and Szymon; foraging and hunting for their children; and counting. Three puppies — one male — two female — three. Three reasons to stay in the Teekons, even when Coelacanth’s bruised and bleeding heart cried out for Amoxtli — for home. Three promises to uphold. Three little wolves that would one day outweigh and overshadow their spindly caretaker — but only if she did her job right.

It was bitterly, painfully cold; Seelie was ill-equipped to face a normal winter with her feathery fur and gaunt physique, let alone the Teekons’ version of Fimbulvetr. With her eyes squeezed shut, she pressed numbly through the drifts that dwarfed and sought to engulf her, her tufted ears pressed firmly against her narrow skull as she shivered and quaked. When she finally broke through the higher drifts, stumbling past spindly trees that arose and thickened into a forest, an unfamiliar voice reached her ears: “It is too cold to be alone; let me lay with you?” Cracking her Neptune eyes open, frost-tangled lashes aching with the effort it took, she spotted the massive melanistic wolf first — and his size alone intimidated her to such a degree that she seriously considered diving headlong back into the blizzard lest she awaken his ire.

With a toneless, airy whine, Coelacanth backpedaled, crouching in the cold, the arched set of her cowed carriage mimicking the inked silhouette of a cemetery headstone. Not even the familiar scent that fluttered past her quivering muzzle could comfort her; she had traveled too long and become too worn down to match the scent to a face with a name. She knew only that it did not belong to Doe, Szymon, Julep, Isengrim, or Moorhen — three puppies — one male — two female — three — and she was utterly disheartened.