Totoka River ready for love

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The breath she drew was replete with him. She spent it on a wavering sigh, and she shaped his name: “Stockholm.” Her luminous eyes went heavy-lidded at the rhythmic flex of his forepaw mapping the serpentine curve of her spine, but she did not close them — sungold and seablue tangled together as their gazes brushed and held. The Gampr began to speak, his sonorous timbre taut with emotion and his grip on her tightening to match. There was so much she wished she could tell him in return — that he had done the same for her; that his love had filled the cracks in her wounded heart with starsilver; that for him, if he wished it, she would give up her island and brave the human world. Feebly, for she knew that now was the time for a significant, poignant rejoinder and that she was incapable of cobbling one together, “Stockholm, k-keep,” she begged him.

The words billowed up within her — ballooning without hope of release until her heart, lungs, and stomach ached fiercely! — but she could not fashion them with her dumb mouth, her hollow throat. Despite her characteristic effervescence, Coelacanth was a sorrowful sort of creature; she simply chose to project joy. Being a patronus herself, she didn’t get to have one of her own.

“Keep,” she whispered again, because her mother hadn’t — because her father wouldn’t — because the humans couldn’t. Nobody had been able to hold onto the little Groenendael for long; she was cunning and quick, with paws that were made for running. This was different. This was significant. The Volkodav had caught her, but so had many others, for better or for worse. The spirited sheepdog had fought hard for her freedom. Now, for the first time in her life, she was asking for ownership. One little paw pressed urgently against the great swell of Stockholm’s chest.

Her eyes shimmered and her lips trembled as she made her wish plain: “Keeping me?”