Totoka River the upper peninsula

Tufted ears flattened against her skull and feathered forelimbs danced a staccato tattoo on the mossy riverbank at the soft, “Thank you,” — it was clear that he was very welcome, indeed! — and the atramentous Groenendael shaved off another sliver of distance that separated them. They were only about a wolf’s length away from one another now, and still she reached for him with a quivering nose, Neptune eyes crinkling shyly but glimmering with hope that he would tolerate such nearness. At length, “Peace be,” she wished him softly, in a whisper as fragile as a promise.

He seemed to be as curious about her as she was about him, and she entreated him to close the rest of the distance with a catlike stretch of her willowy forelegs, toes curling in the greenery. Her spine, shorter than most wolves’, curved in an exaggerated tilde as her inky plume flagged the air, and she tilted her finely drawn skull to look up at him inquisitively, wriggling her hindquarters. Seelie was still weighed down by the recent loss of Poppy and could not find it within herself to initiate play despite her eloquent bow, so she sat demurely and lifted a paw entreatingly. To his question, she offered a bashful smile. “Undersea,” she breathed, her mood buoying briefly.