Whitefish River all I need is to be struck

The.. child? came quickly bounding out of the water. Already on edge, Dulce took a swift leap back and bit anxiously at the inside of her cheek. Staring quietly at the strange little girl, she chose not to respond, preferring to finish her evaluation. This was a part of being a scout, right? It was hard to tell which parts of her job were real versus those that she’d made up to make her life all the more complicated. 

Used to, Dulce finally replied with a smile. She lowered her tail and allowed herself to begin a wag of her own. I have no time now. The sour truth of adulthood was that it came with responsibilities that no one could afford to neglect. For years, she’d managed to push them off and pretend that they would never apply; this avoidance just made it all the more difficult in the end. You don’t seem very good. (Of course, said with a maternalistic twang.)