Whitefish River some sad singers, they just play tragic

He lingered silently, trying to decide whether to advance closer to Seelie and the stranger or stay where he was. He catches Seelie’s gaze when she looks towards him again, holding it in wordless communication – I’m here if you need me – before deciding to take a seat and keep his mouth shut.

The Gampr sinks to his haunches, his hackles smoothing back down between his shoulder-blades as Coelacanth turns her attention back to the white shewolf. The sheepdog’s history is a mystery to him, as much as his own is to her beyond what they revealed to each other the night they met. Exchanges since then have been about the here and now, not the past. Perhaps because the past holds too much pain for both of them.

His brows furrow as Olive speaks, a fraction of what must be a very long story, and he has to restrain the curl of his lip at the thought of anyone hurting Seelie. Of someone betraying her, selling her – implying she belonged to anyone other than him. Of the malicious darkness that could be inferred from that situation if he let his imagination wander. And even the thought of this stranger being forcibly separated from her family, no matter if she had a hand in wronging Seelie or not, still made his blood boil.