Wheeling Gull Isle martinique, that montserrat mystique

Handsome. Amusement flickered in his eyes, though he did not voice it – it was perhaps the first time another had called him so, and he found himself at a loss for a response. Instead, the shadowrunner canted his muzzle slightly, tipping it downward in a silent gesture of appreciation to her comment.

She whispered his name then – the rawness of the pronunciation unlike anything he had heard, but it became obvious she was not one for words. Coyness emanated from her, and she demanded in what was perhaps the most endearing manner he had witnessed that he give her a name. The grin that lit up his features was a slow one, his bemusement only growing as he considered her request. He studied her – the impish nature that she would move in play, and found his own stocky form relaxing in her presence. “Sìthiche,” he rumbled, the name rolling from his tongue with a gentle firmness, for he believed it suited her. “Fairy,” he translated for her, watching her movements as she moved as gracefully as the sea. A sea fairy in her very right.

Her slender form took off then – the silken fur of her coat that indicated to him she held dog in her blood brushing away from the wind. His own stocky form boasted a prowess as he leapt forward, giving in to friendly instinct and a game of chase. The ocean wind was welcomed as it kissed his face, and for a stolen moment, he was able to drop the past behind him and simply enjoy the right now.