Swiftcurrent Creek Can't forget your style or your cynicism

Nothing was said in return—instead, a very muddy and sleepy puppy quietly took up his invitation and curled up within his arms. Whether it was fatigue from the clear journey she had taken, or the white noise of the falling rain, she was soon asleep. Moments passed—water dropping down from the crown of his head and across his eyes.

Reminded, once more, of the fateful night where he assumed his heart had perhaps been broken one last time.

Trying to keep the water from falling on her, the Mayfair quietly re-positioned—pulling her closer, his own head resting out to the ground, until only a sparse bit of puppy fur and a muzzle could likely be seen from an onlooker—and perhaps the rise and fall of both their chests as they dozed.