Golden Glade die with memories, not dreams

The mist blended her creamy form into his, giving her a ghostlike apperance beside his stronger build. She could feel his nerves radiating from his stagnant form, yet he appeared calm and collected. She did not want him to worry, for she knew that Jhala would take a liking to him. He was strong, but not too arrogant to form loyal bonds. A wry smile danced across her maw at the thought, to see him submissive would be a sight for sore eyes.

As he tilted his skull back into the morning fog, she obliged, bringing her own muzzle high into the chilly daybreak. A high, silvery note poured from her, entwining with his call. It was encouragement. A friendly call to her pack, alerting them that she had found someone worthy of their presence. When the song drifted from her maw into silence, she pressed her side into his. She knew his confidence was mere bravado, and hoped to provide any sort of encouragement that she may.