Cerulean Cape where the moon is made of gold

I keep writing “eyes” like an idjit! Let me know if this pp is not okay ~

“I have a family, too,” the young wolf told her, and she was watching him so closely and focused so intently upon his eye in particular that it was impossible to miss the sheen that blurred its sharp intensity. Her heart ached for the tangle of emotions that crashed down upon his thin shoulders and she inched nearer to him, no longer able to keep herself from offering the comfort of her touch. Of course, he missed his true family! Coelacanth understood that more than most.

Poor lamb!

Over time, she’d come to accept and understand that Julep and Isengrim’s aggression toward her had not been a personal attack but a longing for Doe and Szymon so sharp they were forced to whet their knives upon her. She was grateful that Screech didn’t follow suit — and when he brushed against her, she mistook the unintentional gesture for permission to return the favor.

Tentatively, she reached out with one catlike forepaw, her aim to drape it at a diagonal across his — but her movements were timorous and that first fateful connection tenuous at best. Watching his face for the faintest sign that he was repulsed or inconvenienced by her nearness, she made to draw away — but a strange and uncharacteristic boldness settled over her and took hold. A low purring sound ticked in her throat, rhythmic and soothing; it was the only way she could hum to the lonely boy. A sympathetic whine rose briefly to override it as she entreatingly extended her other foreleg. Her movements were hesitant and shy, her end goal to lay nearly parallel to the one-eyed wolf, with her forelimbs crossed companionably across his, that the fur of their shoulders — one sterling, one obsidian — might tangle together. “I am sorry,” bespoke her shimmering eyes.