Firefly Glen When Doves Cry

It could be, Katmai thought, the idea surging through him like his own blood. It could be every day we sing together. We can find other people to sing with, too. We could start something.

He bit his tongue, but he couldn't hide his smile at her praise.

"At your service," he said with a bow, his tail wheeling high in pleasure. He did not tell her that it was her voice and not any running that'd taken his breath away. Something being true did not save it from being a line, and he was as of yet still too self-conscious to be that incorrigible of a flirt.

"I'm a bard, too," he told her, though what he meant was that he wanted to be, and that his father was. "I don't know any healing, though. Did you learn from the moonwoman?"

She was close enough.