Wheeling Gull Isle santeria

“My, my,” was all he’d said — but the skittish vagrant reacted as though he’d struck her. The vivid asynchronicity of her tufted ears betrayed her uncertainty — the right swept out and down, miming an apology, while the left perked like an inverse, block letter exclamation point. A faint drawl blurred the male’s vowels into something slow and honeyed despite the gravelly nature of his timbre, and a tremulous pull of familiarity brought the finely drawn Groenendael’s timid auris dextra to stand at attention beside its mate.

The little stray drew back hesitantly, settling her frail weight upon her hindquarters in preparation to whirl and flee. Emotive Neptune eyes, dappled with turquoise and limpid with the last of her tears, curiously traced the heavy, masculine planes of his face — but when shy cerulean clashed sharply with observant orange, they danced flightily askance. More distance, begged her aching heart, and she withdrew another step despite the nagging sensation that he was significant in a way she could not yet define.

There was no reason the ingénue should remember him — she had already forgotten herself.