Cerulean Cape earth to herc, come in herc -

She was a warrior. “Woah,” he would gawk at her, “way heavy.”  Even if she was no queen, she was still a battle princess — like a Valkyrie, gilded wings spread and sword high with a devout honor.  Still totally cool — no, more than that, it was rad. “I’ll like, try to remember to stay on your good side,” he chuckled.  He was certainly no champion.  No savior of any one.  He had the utmost certainty that this deific monarch of bellicosity could utterly wipe him out.  Luckily for him, though, he was the amicable sort.  Your own personal beam of sunshine.  “You can do it,” he afforded her, trying to alleviate any uncertainties she may have had about the prospect of pack-building, “I can sense something in you, man. Something good. You’re gonna totally go places.”  He said, before his lips pursed to the side, slanting his muzzle in thought — “I’ll help you.”  He grinned, before he began to bounce wildly with an uncontained excitement, “yeah, man, let’s do it! We can do it!”  He shuffled his paws wildly in the sand, sanding rooster-tails in every which direction, “I got you. You just like, let me be me, I’m a wanderer, y’know. I’m never sittin’ still. Always moving, always flyin’. You let me do my thing and I’ll be your most loyal, like, servant. I’ll do whatever.” He smiled, before giving her his most inelegant mock-curtsy.