Cerulean Cape she don’t got a lot to say but there’s something about her

Coelacanth was to some the embodiment of laughter and light, but deep down, she was a mere halfbreed — not a dog, not a wolf — with a debilitating speech impediment. She turned back to Aditya when he stretched out beside her, and met his eyes with not a little trepidation. Fortunately, he did not laugh at her ineptitude; in fact, he smiled, and in the corners of his lips was a soft stricture of pain that she felt keenly but did not understand. “Shikni raat,” she mirror-whispered. “Adi.” Tufted ears swept forward, and her elegantly drawn crown tipped in unabashed curiosity.

“Come visit us,” he murmured to her, and a flash of sadness surfaced in pools of cerulean before her lashes demurely dipped to hide it. She wasn’t happy to know that the group was moving — they were so close to her, which suited her perfectly. Still, Catori’s paws were made for moving, and she did want happiness for her Morningside family. She summoned a smile for the golden-eyed male and shoved aside her selfish obsession with keeping the family close, nodding exuberantly. Then she gave her own news to him: “Stockholm,” she whispered, her throat beginning to ache the more she spoke. “Faeryn, Modo, Ockli — ” Turning her muzzle askance, she issued a gentle cough.

“F-Family,” she breathed when she dared, and leaned forward to nuzzle the bridge of her elongated muzzle against the stern underside of his chin. “Undersea.” She hoped he would remember that name, though she couldn’t be sure if he would — he’d been in terrible shape the first time they’d met. She allowed herself to look past him, to focus her eyes on the island. So much could be said in one glance, and she wanted him to know where she and the others would be.