Sun Mote Copse Don't tell me what the poets are doin'

Her sense of smell resumed a backseat position as Niamh stroked her back and sang to her. The puppy cocked her head, favoring her right ear: the only one that could hear anything at present (and, as time would tell, ever). Her Neema's voice sounded muffled despite the proximity, though Meerkat nonetheless enjoyed it immensely. The combination of sound and touch soothed her effectively, causing her to grow still. It made her feel safe, even a little sleepy, yet the pup refused to succumb to a nap just now.

Instead, she rolled over onto her back, paws batting gently at her Neema's face as she wordlessly begged for a belly rub next.