Gilded Bay rhythm is a dancer

The morning sun, she greeted with a trill of a noise as her paws threw up motes of sand, the fine particles lingering in the air. Of course, the sun was almost immediately shadowed by the scattered arrays of cumulus clouds, but Zipporah had little thought for that. Instead, her mind was consumed solely by a desire for breakfast.

The first victim of her appetite was an unfortunate clam she managed to wrangle open, feasting upon it, before she carried on her merry way. The next was a crab, and she spend an hour or so on it. By that time, she was more full, but barely so. Her thin legs stamped paw prints into the wet sand as she wandered the ocean’s edge, foam lapping at her ankles and a delicate frown on her face.

She wanted a fish. But she was rather unwilling to swim for it. Go figure, eh?

she stole his breath with her presence. a dancer! he could tell by the sway of her limbs and the grace of even her smallest movements. the bard was at once enchanted, a state indigenous to his character.

the komondor leapt from rock to rock, in flight resembling a sheepskin carpet, until finally he had good position to further observe the stranger.

it would appear she was looking for fish. ah, a perfect icebreaker!

he gave a happy bark.

"do yeou neej help, yaeng miss?" the bard shouted with a smile from upon the rock, his many cords tugged at by the oceanway winds.

Her response to the corded man was to bay like a wild thing, face splitting into a giant grin as her tail began to wag.

If you can offer it, I’d accept it! She yelled in response, eyes bright with laughter as she splashed closer. Zipporah’s eyes flicked over the newcomer, assessing, before they went to his face.

Though, perhaps a name first? So I may know who to thank?

his excitement multiplied by her own, the komondor descended from the rocks with tail wagging wild, landing before the dancerwoman.

"славуј." he said in his birth tongue, then with a grin gave a handier pronunciation. "slah-vooy, songster aend wanjerer, atch yeour service!"

he attempted to circle her, as to smell her better, still mirthful. "aend who may yeou be, daencer, that mather natchur hasn't yet fed?"