Cerulean Cape where the moon is made of gold

With her chin resting gently atop Screech’s head, Coelacanth allowed herself to drift into the contented haze that separated slumber from awareness; her Neptune eyes closed and her rhythmic purring grew softer and slower. The passage of time was lost to her until the young wolf sniffled and began to withdraw, wiping his nose and eye against his wrist to clear them of any vestiges of grief. Tufted ears fanned forward to catch his suggestion even as her slim jaws parted in a wide yawn, and she tilted her head at him curiously with a shy smile shaping her lips. “But we are with them,” she thought, her feathered tail waving slowly. As he made to withdrew from her — emotionally, she felt, more than physically — she shook her head in mute protest. Wouldn’t he like to stay with her? She would feed him and take care of him until he was well enough to find his own family —

— oh.

She was doing it again — the thing she’d done with Julep, Isengrim, and Moorhen.

Bad dog.

Coelacanth’s acknowledgement of one of her greatest flaws — to cling too tightly, perhaps, and to attach too much meaning to, well, everything — warred with a burgeoning desire she didn’t quite understand. It was probably her closeness to Catori that made her miss her wayward flock so much and cling so tightly to this poorly treated lamb. She didn’t think he’d eaten enough but she didn’t want to keep him against his will. The tiny Groenendael settled on a middle ground; she offered him a soft whisper of a whine, muzzle tilting toward the muted voices. Do you want to come back with me? Her shimmering seablue eyes said she hoped he did, and she leaned forward to nibble at his cheek with unabashed affection — though if he made to draw away, she would not press him.