Cerulean Cape earth to herc, come in herc -

Friend — it lingered upon the crest of his ear like the honeyed dew on the flesh of a leaf.  They were friends.  He seemed to have turned to stone, there, his foreleg still extended, his servile head bowed — but then, he looked up at her, and his baby blues wept.  Tears threaded through the pale fur of his cheeks, abundant veins of impassioned sobs racing down to pool at the whiskers of his chin, and dislodge to the sands below him.  “That’s – that’s so,” he blubbered, “like, nice of you to say, dude. Like I am just so freaking, full of love right now, man.”  Then she hit him with the (“all you have to do is be yourself,”) and he felt as though his heart was going to explode.  “You’re just, so far-out. So nice. You’re rad, man.”  He wheezed, straining to form the words.  The universe was singing for this moment.  He managed to pull himself together enough to wipe his forearm across his eyes, attempting to dissuade any further tears, pulling back to sit on his haunches — “w-what’s the Taiga?”  He managed, though his bottom lip still quivered.  He wondered if it was more the cheery, sunny climate he was used to.