Emberwood [m] But if you get me out, you get a show

She wanted me to be like her — a simple concept, but one that made the coywolf frown in thought. He compared it to the sense of adoration he'd always felt from his own family. They'd wanted him to be things, yeah, but what he remembered most was being watched with bright eyes that asked, what will he do next?

But he supposed he had made his parents weep, leaving them the way he had. And if her mother thought she might lose her, Dusty Rose could see why she might be upset. It was just that he couldn't imagine why a dancer might lose her life — not until Reverie went on.

He shifted against her, distracted, fitting himself against the curve of her spine. His mind was elsewhere — off in the plains under the haze of a hot summer day, watching the fierce and pleading dance that Reverie had showed him. Her fur would've been oily and matted, her nose cracked and bleeding. Dusty Rose wondered if she'd faltered near the end, or if she'd kept moving as forcefully as when she'd started.

He pressed his weight against her.

"Y'know — I think I like you a whole lot," he told her, and he spoke as if it was a truth he was reluctant to concede but forced to own up to all the same.