Dawnlark Plains baby, there’s a fog over the pier

“Seelie.”

An animated, soundless bark split Coelacanth’s fox-fine muzzle as she turned to face the silverspun huntress. Her love for Dawn was quieter and gentler than the exuberant nonsense she normally threw at Sunny, but no less warm. Overjoyed by the fact that she was in fact carrying Dawn’s gift, and more than a little grateful that she didn’t have to put it back down again or try to also fit the stone in her mouth, the sheepdog danced forward and set the gleaming obsidian horn reverently at the young wolf’s paws. “Dawn,” she whispered, her cerulean eyes crinkling at the corners with delighted affection. “For you.” Coelacanth tended to believe that all wolves were collectors like her fiery-furred twin, so she didn’t feel the need to explain the reason for giving her gift — but she did want to explain the reasoning behind choosing it. “H-Happy life for you.”

“Strrrong,” she added, muzzle snaking forth as quick and sinuous as an eel. She closed her teeth around it to make a soft click-clack sound before drawing back, wriggling appealingly as she added, “and beauty.” It was a prize fit for a huntress, and though Seelie would have preferred something a little more impressive — a shark’s tooth, maybe — the horn would have to do.