Fishblight Mire Shatter myself, I don't care

Mustang gave a little nervous whistle, pacing in place a bit as he watched the smaller canid struggle against the mud, wanting desperately to reach out and pick her up out of it, but knowing he hadn’t exactly been given permission, and his strength was an enigma even to him. So, he stood there, rocking back and forth, watching, barely keeping in a whimpery whine.

He watched her eyes trail to the stick, and the golden boy moved accordingly, stretching his body out to snag it between his teeth and drag it closer for the young woman he was helping to grab hold, watching for the moment she did. He gave the branch a little tug, and eyed her questioningly, waiting for the permission to tug her out.

If he got it, he’d start immediately.