Herbalists' Cache touch

For the first time in what seemed an impossibly long time, Coelacanth let time itself get away from her. The obsessive desire to spend each hour wisely and deliberately was lifted from her as she gamboled and leapt, pounced and wriggled. She couldn’t pretend this wolf was Amoxtli — there was no wolf who could ever superimpose her twin’s laughing visage — but there was comfort and familiarity in his wordlessness. They whirled and danced until they overheated, and Seelie nudged the ice-encrusted berries again toward her new friend, dipping her muzzle into her bowl to get a few for herself. Together they savored the jewels’ sweetness, and when the inky ingénue was pulled back to her responsibilities by a stray tendril of guilt, she left him — but not before pressing the berry-stained wet of her nose against the gay little spirit’s cheek. A soft huff of laughter produced a pocket of sweet-scented fog at the purple mark she left behind.

Then, without farewell or fanfare, she disappeared into the shadows.