Wheeling Gull Isle bermuda, bahama; come on, pretty mama

The audible rumble of the tiny sheepdog's stomach contrasted with the way she shakes her head no in response pulls a smile across his lips and he huffs softly as she buries her face into the ruff of fur around his neck, turning his head to rub affectionately against hers.

His ears perk as she suddenly bounds away and he immediately rises to his feet, tail curling upwards in a lazy arc and slowly waving back and forth as he steps forward to follow her. When she speaks, her voice is a whisper and the tone is one he recognizes as a voice that has been touched by the interference of man through something he has heard called debarking. It piques his curiosity a great deal that the obsidian beauty before him has also known the world of humans.

"Coelacanth," he echoes. "Seelie." It seems she is like him, not used to using her words perhaps, and he dips his head down to brush the top of his muzzle against the underside of her jaw. "Friend," he reassures her then ponders, briefly, before gently leaning his shoulder against her and taking a step forward, gesturing with the incline of his head for her to lead the way. "Stockholm, is the name the Man gave me. On the other side of the sea my name was Tovarisch. But that was.. a long time ago." He's not sure why he confides this information to her, it is unnecessary, and he tended to be the kind of dog who didn't elaborate needlessly nor share personal information easily... but perhaps it is an instinctive gesture of trust. He has just met her, but he already knows he could never keep anything from her. His life, his thoughts, would be an open book to her if she were to ask.