Whitefish River Make like a baby and have little to no control over any aspect of your life or body

The quick rise and fall of his chest did nothing to quell the tightness that was beginning to blossom there behind his sternum. The boy canted back his ears, scanning the trees, feeling his hackles prickle at the sight of a moving shadow in the trees ... Astara? Or Sanguinus?

I'm Dawn, said the shadow, and Dragomir was inclined to not believe her. It seemed like something those monsters would do, pretending to be someone they weren't to lull him into another false sense of security. But the shadow he was staring at was just the shadow of the canopy shifting across the trunks of the trees; the wolf who spoke stood to his side, and he noticed her with a visible start and a hoarse shout.

But at least her presence, and the fact she was definitely not one of his tormenters come to find him, was a soothing balm on his panic. His breathing remained rapid but the coil in his chest loosened just a little. She was lovely, a soft and pale shade of grey that didn't remind him of anything else he had ever met. Perhaps Praimfaya, but he didn't really remember her. Dragomir's eyes searched her for any sign of ill intent, but he would have a hard time believing that such a pretty woman was associated with Sanguinus and Astara in any way.

Swallowing and doing his best to slow his breathing, Dragomir squeaked a woefully frightened, he-hello! D-Dragomir. Er, and he flattened his ears, ashamed, and said, I m-mean I'm Dragomir.