Wheeling Gull Isle let my imagination run away with you gladly

What a funny sound he made!

Stirred into an effervescent frenzy by Aditya’s blessing and the high-pitched peal of laughter she’d shocked out of him, Seelie butted her head kittenishly against his forepaw as it drifted overhead with a tiny “brrrt!” of a purr and then dropped her silken cheek and gamine shoulder in a lopsided bow. Her hips and tail remained upright even as she swatted at him laterally with her forelimbs like a nosy feline trying to get under a bathroom door. She was silly? Please! She was the epitome of grace and poise, especially when she scrabbled into an upright position and then bunny-hopped down the slope after him. When he bowed, she adjusted her trajectory with a few haphazard bounds and mimicked his stance, tilting her head this way and that like a curious bird.

The sheepdog’s tufted ears perked at Aditya’s statement, the keen intensity of her listening expression melting like butter into sunspiced shyness as he mentioned her dance at the Hunter’s Moon. Dipping her delicate muzzle, she bowed gracefully, touching the tip of her nose to the medial aspect of her carpus in gratitude. Yes, of course she wanted to dance with him! — and this was evinced by a vehement nod and a quick, finespun circle as she barked without sound.