The Sentinels With all of this money, they all want something from me

It was a woman. Golden, as bright and brilliant as the sun over the cusp of mountains, and Selma thought fondly of home for that moment as she hesitated; and then she bowed her head, her shoulders hunching together and tail straight-out behind her, lowering, then wriggling at the tip, hoping for a friendly exchange. At the very least, to not be chased away.
She tasted the air with a few cursory sniffs, and feigned interest in the grass beneath her chin a moment, before her shy, darting eyes returned to the woman where they would linger. She willed herself to be forthright, rather than frightened.
That was the way she'd had to be since the world had so shifted. There were many strange faces in the previous weeks, and words spoken, and understandings gleaned, although Selma's interpretation of common tongue would forever be a stressor; she could at least say, Hallo.