Cerulean Cape Riverboat, wheelbarrow, wildflower and barley

At the sound of pawsteps she went very still. She had long since stopped thinking of herself as an assassin, but even so, old habits died hard. Particularly when that habit had kept her alive through a year of being hunted by those who would wield her as a weapon.

Maybe she was a weapon, but she was her own.

Her ears pulled forward as she lifted from the sand with one smooth motion, pale grains cascading down her muzzle. She shook the rest of the sand from her coat and took a step forward. Her tail swayed once, twice, then stilled.