Wheeling Gull Isle I wanna live a life from a new perspective

The timorous little Groenendael hooked one dainty paw over the fish, her Neptune eyes luminous with a glimmer of fearful hope. Rather than pulling the offering toward her, she drew her gamine frame nearer to the fish. Like Faeryn, she was in it for the company — but she appreciated the gift and set about nibbling at it. When she’d finished, leaving the bones and some of the flesh behind for the scavengers to pick over, she returned her attention to the slate-furred female she’d originally come to find. She wanted to ask Faeryn so many questions! They clambered for purchase within the hollow column of her throat, but it was so difficult to remember how to pronounce each separate word. Fortunately, the sheepdog hadn’t learned any filler words; unfortunately, that meant she was utterly quiet while her teeth and tongue gingerly tried to shape each phrase.

“Thank you for the fish,” ought to have come first, but Seelie was cowed by that first chancy consonant blend, and she attempted to express her gratitude in a typically nonverbal fashion: deeply, she bowed her head, tapered muzzle dipping low as she indicated the fish and tilted a shy smile up at her agemate. Feathered plume swept behind her as she inched slightly closer, then ventured a few whispered words in a poor attempt to start a conversation:

“Faeryn, w-where from? Heppi — haaappy here?”