As summer's green heat turned into a colder fall, her folks... They suddenly left.
In turn, they'd left her with Angus' family, which would be the husband, with the mustache, the stout wife, the elder son, the middle girl, and the two younger boys, along with Opie, Wedge, and Cece. And, to be honest, she didn't exactly mesh with that crowd. Opie and Wedge, brothers, were on the main sled team. Cece never shared her toys, quite territorial, and Angus bled her dry of her energy along with Opie and Wedge. It was hard to be free of them all to go see Pexa or even Molly. She didn't like any of it. Not the noise, not the too-rough roughhousing she could never escape from submitting to, not the food, the lack of people-kisses, any of it. It made her confound herself over and over for thinking being mild-mannered had ever been a good thing.
They slept outside in the good weather. The space was good there on the deck. She curled up away from the rest of them, and though Angus did try his best to be inclusive, it didn't work.
But at night, she could see the tree-line behind the house. She could swear there were eyes in those trees, could almost smell a scent on the wind.
The worst was when they'd hear howling. Opie and Wedge would mock it sometimes. She would lay awake and listen, fear and intrigue keeping sleep from her.
As the snow came in, as the cold rolled in and the water froze and the geese were gone, they were still not allowed inside the house, which was foreign to her.
She knew there were eyes in the trees now. She met those green eyes that watched the town sometimes, with as much curiosity as apprehension in her. No one else seemed to note them. No one else even seemed to look. In the strangest way, it was comforting and nerve-wracking all the same. If it was him, then at least now she knew he had no plans to come back and cause harm, which was nice. If not... Well, maybe she was locking eyes with a beaver instead. Maybe the beaver could be her best friend and give her a warm place for the winter. She'd never really met a beaver face to face, but she'd seen them from far off, chattering to each other, though she definitely could not understand them. That would be an issue, then...
Angus, Opie, and Wedge were being extra... attentive as of late. Cece just seemed amused when Annabella snapped at the males for brushing up against her, for trying to get their legs over her back.
"Easy does it now, darlin'," Opie drawled in that accent she'd really come to detest.
"Quit it!" she barked back as he advanced further, trying to lick at her face.
By now, she knew what was going on.
She knew why they were sticking to her and fighting with each other, and she knew why other male dogs were coming around more and more lately. And she wanted none of it.
It was early evening when it happened, just after dinner time, with the setting sun making the snow on the hills glow orange and pink. Cece had tried to take advantage of the fact that Wedge was sniffing around her back side and she had to keep snapping at him to steal some of her food. Her food.
Needless to say, the scuffle that had ensued was full of flying fur.
And now Annabella was miserably laid on the deck, her shoulder bleeding, the back of her neck bleeding and stinging, though she'd won, Angus, Opie and Wedge crowding her, seeming to take turns guarding against each other. She'd seen this before around town.
Angus laughed to a retreating Opie, "Stay off, you bitch-sniffer!"
Annabella scooted away from how he was standing over her, knocking him off balance, making him lash out at her, teeth in her ruff, shaking furiously as he growled and Wedge tried to stand over her backside–
As she yelped and snarled, trying to yank away from Angus, Wedge had hooked his forearms before her hips–
Her eyes shot open wider, and she spun, taking Angus with her as she latched onto Wedge's shoulder, tasting flesh and blood between her jaws, hearing him snarl and scream.
She was let go of, and, stumbling out into the snow to the side of the house, took a moment, breaths heaving, head low, seeing they were distracted, licking their wounds.
She ran.
She ran into the forest in the gathering dark, not knowing what she might find, but convinced it was better than another week of that torture.
When she slowed down, she was struck with anxiousness, letting out a soft whine in response to the shadows, the gentle snow falling into her eyes. It only got into thicker drifts beneath her paws, and every so often she would sink into it before fighting her way out, draining her energy.
Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea...
She was beginning to smell things. Things that told her to run away and hide. Far off– far, far off– she heard wolves howling, and stopped, shaking.
They're far. They're far. You won't bother them. Not one dog, no, of course not.
Oh, but it sounded like there were so many!
She could just stay here for a while, then return to Kuno. Of course, it wouldn't be to Angus' family. No, she'd have to live on her own– the price of space was worth becoming thinner. She kept going, padding on through the snow, finding where it was shallower and sticking there to walk atop it, ears pricked, mouth closed, tail down, and eyes sharp.
Only it did her no good, for suddenly, not far from her, standing in her path, seeming to have melted out of a shadow, was a familiar figure.
Her back instantly hunched, her tail tucked between her legs, and her body began trembling upon seeing him take a few, calm, measured steps forward.
Maybe there were plenty of black wolves in this forest.
But only one of them was that big and had those scars on his face–
She bit out carefully, eyes not leaving him as he paced forward with massive paws and stopped with her voice, "Don't– Don't make me fight you–"
He tilted his head just a bit.
She swallowed thickly, cowering even more, and could nearly laugh at her own stupidity right now. "Because we both know I wouldn't win. I'll go. I'll go–"
"Go where?" he asked, in a rich, flowing voice she hadn't– well, she hadn't expected. He wasn't looking hostile. He didn't smell hostile. Though she knew he could be. Oh, she knew...
"I– Uhh–"
"You're injured and you're all alone out here in the dark. Where are you going?"
"I wasn't– No– Nowhere in particular..." she mumbled, her trembling stopping on its own, having trouble meeting his eyes now. They almost glowed. Those were the eyes she knew too well.
He regarded her carefully for a moment. "You don't have to be afraid. I'll not hurt you."
Huh?
His voice was washing over her like warmth itself against the bitter cold. He seemed not to mind it, the hushing of the wind in the snow-laden trees, the flecks of snow that caught in his dark coat. She asked, "No?" silently urging herself to come to her senses.
He nearly seemed amused when he returned, "Why should I?" She had no answer– well, she did, but she didn't want to get herself into trouble with him. He continued, seeing as she did not reply. "No. You were kind to me. Therefore, I'll be kind to you."
He turned, paws crunching up the snow much more softly than hers did; he was adept at this, built for it more than a dog was. She could only watch as he began to walk away, rising from her hunched position. Then he turned over his shoulder to look at her. "Would you like to come?"
Fear shot through her once more. "To a pack?"
"No. No, with me. I move around a lot, but there's a den near here. It's cold out here for you. Not to mention–" he nodded to her bloody fur, "That will get smelled..."
Her eyes widened and her body stiffened. He gave her a moment, then continued walking.
"Wait!" she yipped, following so suddenly, fighting her way to galumph through the thicker snow. He did wait. He waited until she was right beside him, and only then did he keep walking. She didn't quite know what to ask. There were so many things... She cleared her throat, trying to find some kind of composure. "Thank you, Lucifer."
"That's not my name," he returned evenly.
Her ears pinned and her eyes went big. "I'm sorry... Then– Um... What might I call you?"
"I don't have a name." What? No! Everyone had a name! He seemed to reconsider. "That being the case... You can call me that if you wish."
"It's alright?" He nodded stiffly. "What if– I don't know if that brings back some bad memories– What about a nickname? Do you have one of those?" He shook his head. If he did have something, he wasn't telling. She was quite hesitant in asking, "Then... What about? Luci? For short?"
He paused. "I like it." Then he looked down and over at her and she nearly stumbled. "Thank you, Annabella."
"You know my name?"
"I picked up on things."
"Oh." She glanced up to his ruff. "Did it take very long to get your chain off?"
"Few days. Used a branch."
She nodded, recalling the scent of his desperation. There was nothing like that on him now.
After a little ways, she spotted what he had been referring to. A hole between some tree roots, half covered up by snow and definitely not in use.
"You do move around a lot?" she half asked, half commented quietly.
"Yes..."
He began digging snow away from the entrance. She tried to help, but ended up hissing due to her injury and he gently shouldered her aside. She hung her head, rather ashamed, somewhat fearful. He now knew the extent of them.
He let her go in first.
It wasn't damp or wet like she had anticipated, but the ground was cold. Not as cold as the snow, but still. When he hopped in behind her and shook out his coat, she was struck by just how little room there was, and pressed herself up against the wall while he was putting snow back up so the wind wouldn't blow in. Smart.
When he turned back to her, she suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe, everything in her halted to see those eyes. They made the powerful shoulders, the muscle and height beneath sooty fur seem less intimidating somehow. They shouldn't.
He padded her way– well, not that there was anything more than a step between them– and asked quietly, "May I see?"
"See? See– OH!" She covered her embarrassment by turning for him, going low so he could... inspect– oh, goodness this was not a good situation.
Don't roll– Don't roll– Don't roll!
The wolf was a gentleman, it seemed, sniffing at her crusted over wounds delicately, snorting out air and telling her, "They don't go too deep. If you wanted to know. Your fur will probably grow back."
"Thank you," she replied, dropping lower onto her belly, laying down. For all she was frightened, on edge, and maybe, just maybe, intrigued, her exhaustion was winning her over, though something else told her she'd not sleep. All she wanted to do was squirm and make this place smell more like home. Something she'd really rather not do when he was here. It might draw attention...
Speaking of attention, his was elsewhere. He was seated rigidly, looking outside to where the snow fell silently. She let loose a sigh as she tried to get more comfortable, but her front legs were shaking as she drew in on herself.
"What happened?" he finally asked, "Why are you out here?"
She looked to where her tail was tucked in against her legs and breathed out another soft sigh. "I needed to get away from my housemates." She raised her head a bit. "My folks they– the humans I lived with– they left. And left me with another family."
He looked over his shoulder at her then, seeming the slightest bit confused. "They were... decent to you, though."
She tucked her chin back on her paws. "More than that. It's not that the family I'm with is awful. Maybe I just got spoiled being the only dog with my own folks. They've got their system and I crashed it."
"If it wasn't awful, you wouldn't be bleeding and have run away into the woods," he pointed out succinctly. She didn't want to admit it. "So it was your housemates who did that, huh?"
Her head rose fast, snapping up to watch him, wary over that one sentence.
And he was nearly sarcastic when he looked back over his shoulder to tell her, "Don't worry; I'm not going back there."
Something like embarrassment filled her up to assume he'd go back solely on her behalf, for those who'd injured her. The only reason it wasn't was true embarrassment was because he'd apparently been thinking along the same lines...
"Still cold?" he asked, nearly troubled to see his question needed no answer, for she was still shivering curled up there.
I shouldn't have come, shouldn't I? That's what you're going to say.
Her breath left her lungs silently as he padded more towards her, standing. And when he asked, "May I?" in that velvety smooth voice, she was so scrambled she didn't understand for a moment. Yet there she found herself assenting. The wolf was indeed a gentleman.
As he settled himself behind her, body curled around hers so that she nearly fit between his two sets of legs, he let out a breath and her eyes widened even more. He was not soft, as she thought he might've been with all the fluffy fur. He was sturdy, warm, and his breaths came slow and sure against her, comforting above all else. When she tilted her head, though, and looked up, his head was still raised behind hers and his ears were pricked towards the entrance they faced. She was afraid to speak, so close to him, and when she did, her words felt foreign in her mouth, felt like she wasn't even the one saying them. "Are you on-edge?"
He lowered his head, relaxed his ears. "No."
And she was struck with surprise and something terribly thrilling and soothing all at the same time when he ducked his head to her and began licking at the wounds across her shoulder blades.
His body heat was warming her up slowly, and she uncurled just a bit, trying to lean more into him.
It was why he asked.
Many a female would tell you exactly what she did and didn't like– all the ones he knew at least. Not this one. It was because she was a dog, he assumed. It was hard enough having to read her scents, but if he was to overstep with her, he knew she'd let him get away with it at the price of her discontent and fear. Which he did not want. So, asking it was.
She was a gentle little thing...
Well, not exactly little. She was about the size of a smaller she-wolf he figured. And, to be honest, with that size, she probably inflicted just as many wounds as she'd received.
As he lapped at her bloodied fur, trying to clean her up, he glanced over to her face. Her eyes were closed. That was a good sign.
Yes, they were rough creatures. They fought, they bled, they died. But she did not speak that language as adeptly as a wolf might around her. He'd wager she was very much in-tune with humans, though. Out of all the dogs, she seemed like she would be.
Ah, she'd stopped shivering, good.
He nuzzled his way to the wound on the side of her neck, and did feel something spike in her.
He hushed her with words he did not even truly understand from himself.
Her tail was tucked, her body tilted into him so that her white fluffy belly was exposed: submission.
So she did speak some of their language...
He could only wonder if it was something like this that had gotten her into trouble with her housemates, as she'd called them. Or if it had been something even he could scent from the edge of the wood. Just like that other time.
He would have thought it would have been different, yet it virtually wasn't, though, she seemed not to know how to conduct herself.
He ignored her seemingly ingrained show of submission in favor of licking clean her wounds she could not reach.
By the time she felt sleepy, she was comfortable and warm, leaned up against him and his bulk, tucked safely into him where cold or threat could not reach her, and, as she drifted off, with him gently licking the wound on the side of her neck, bent over her, she could only wonder why she didn't feel fearful of those jaws that she'd seen in action.
When she fell asleep, he ceased his ministrations, and laid his head outside of hers, looking out to the snow, feeling so utterly content to have her pressed up against him the way she was, feeling each and every breath.
And so he dozed, only to wake before dawn to her chin resting on his paw, head leaned into his.
He just blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the awfully warm feeling in his chest.
When she woke as well, stretching her legs, pushing her back and side further into him, the same feeling exploded in him, and he was hard-pressed to not start licking at her face frantically and begging her not to take this from him.
She opened her eyes, meeting one of hers with one of his, though he could not even focus on her they were pressed so close. She tore her muzzle away from the side of his–as if she'd been caught doing something wrong– but she did not move further than that.
He savored the last of this, then pushed himself to his paws, shaking his coat, and sighed, "I can take you home," pushing back his own thoughts on the matter.
Her eyes were wide, and she remained stuck where she had been.
He turned and began digging at the freshly-fallen powdered snow to make getting out easier.
She finally stood in turn, waiting patiently it seemed, and he stood to the side to let her out, watching her sink into the snow even his longer legs had trouble with, amusement covering his disappointment in letting her go. He was wrestling to become resigned to only see her from the shadows of the trees.
He ducked after her, watching her try and shake snow off her coat; it didn't really help much. It was a picture to behold, her there in the gray winter's dawn, mist beginning to form through the trees.
She said quite suddenly, "I can't. I–" She cut off, looking to the direction of the town, where they'd come from. "I don't think I can go back right now."
She understood, didn't she?
Was she aware of what she was saying?
She glanced to him, seeing what he had to say, but he was already in motion, asking, "Oh?" brushing along her side, a surreptitious sign.
"I can't," she said all the more softly, turning to look at him over her back, waiting for something...
Was this it? Her choosing him?
Oh, he didn't think so.
But he couldn't help himself around her– he'd never been able to. And he'd had months to mull it over.
He needed to ask so many things he couldn't glean from her reactions. All he asked her for the moment was, "Are you hungry? You eat on a schedule, right?"
"You don't?" she asked, cocking her head to the side, ears flopping, as if not truly wanting to stand up all the time, and he hid his fascination of that.
"Last time I ate was a few days ago. I could be hungry." Her eyes were huge, shocked, then softened as if to say, 'You poor thing'. He soaked up every bit of attention he could get from her. He brushed her once more the other way playfully, panting, bidding her, "Come on; we'll go hunt. You know how to hunt?"
She trotted behind him, struggling a bit. "Ahm– If it's anything like chasing chickens?"
"Ah, you can do birds?"
"Well they're flightless. And in a cage. And I don't kill them." He gave her a look. "I have no reason to!" He nodded, facing forward once more, guiding them to where they'd be able to slip between territories to get to the plains.
"I'll show you." He was too excited about this for his own good, and she seemed to pick up on it, panting, her tail wagging just a bit. He asked jokingly, "You doing alright back there?"
"Mm. Fine." She breached through a bank, puffing, "How do you do it?" He held up a paw. Once she was beside him he put it down next to hers. "Ah. Big feet."
"No," he countered, "You just have small ones." Her ears twitched back and her mouth closed. He couldn't hold back from bumping her affectionately, adding, "Not that that's a bad thing. You'll figure it out."
She wondered if he knew how she felt upon seeing that difference. On one hand, it was something different in their makeup. On the other... well she quite liked his big paws. They were very good paws indeed, though, she kept that thought to herself as he trotted on at the easy pace she had trouble keeping up with in these drifts.
"It should get easier up on ahead," he encouraged her kindly, flicking her nose with the tip of his tail teasingly.
"What– What are we hunting?" she asked.
"I'm trying to smell for leftovers, but nothing's fresh so I figure we'll be disappointed. Besides, if we make a kill of an elk now, then we'll be able to come back later for you."
"We don't have to," she told him.
"I've seen you dogs all behave strangely if you don't get your rations." She just didn't want him to think her spoiled, though she was sure she was bound to disappoint him here. "Then again, I've not seen you be able to eat the leg off a kill," he remarked thoughtfully. What that meant exactly, she did not know, but as they traveled further and she began smelling utterly strong scents, she let loose a whine, hesitating, not knowing where he was leading her.
"It's alright," he assured her. And she supposed she'd have to trust him. The amount she already did surprised her.
After a good while, the sun high in the sky, a pale disc behind the clouds, they came to the end of trees. Far off in the distance, a ways below in a valley of sorts, were a group of a few specks. She could only assume that was what they were aiming for.
He continued trotting down into the valley, testing the air every so often, changing course slightly each time, each time more precise, while all she could do was follow with ungraceful galumphing and her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted.
Soon, though, he was speaking to her quietly as he took careful, slow steps, eyes fixed on the herd they approached.
"You're going to need to drive them this way for me. From there I'll single one out, and you can go for the legs. Can you do that?"
"I–" She steeled herself, trying to shake out her nerves. "I'll try."
"Good girl." She nearly did a double-take. That was a wolf thing, too?! He seemed to realize something, and swung his head her way. "I mean. I just heard you all say that. Figured it was fine. That you knew it and–" he trotted off with a quiet groan before she could overcome her surprise to respond to him. Once he was settled behind a snow-laden bush, body held close to the ground, he flicked his ears the way he wanted her to go, jerked his head. She nodded, and, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible, made a wide, wide arc around that herd made up of big, big beasts, looking back to where Luci was every so often, as if for reassurance.
Oh, but out here, she was alone...
The need to impress him was overwhelming, making her take one step after another as if it was a buried instinct taking over. The fear was muffled by it, making her shoulders move easily, making her able to focus better.
All she really knew was that she could chase things...
And chase them well.
So, once she was rounded at the back of the herd, she checked where he was once more, seeing the herd just beginning to become really uneasy.
The boxy brown beasts had their large heads turned her way, and had eyes like horses. She had nothing against horses, but out here, she needed to eat. And Luci was looking forward to a meal after a few whole days.
So, launching herself forward, letting loose a flurry of barks, she drove herself at their back, seeing them flee before her. There was nothing she could do but run, excitement and fear and that instinct running in her veins, trying to keep from breathing in snow, hearing their keening cries that only seemed to spur her onward.
Up ahead, they were beginning to pass Luci.
He let a few go before darting out at one, hitting it broadside with his mass, and really, he looked small compared to the animal.
He roared her name. It sang in her blood.
She left the herd, giving chase to him and the straggler.
"Cut left!" he snarled.
And she did, despite the fact that it was away from the prey, only to look over her shoulder to see him driving the animal barreling toward her.
"LUCI!" she shrieked.
He cut wider, giving the animal berth, and shouted back, "GO FOR THE REAR! RUN HER HERE!"
Legs shaking, barely able to keep her breaths, she tried to block the animal, yelping and skidding in the snow when it didn't look like it would stop–
She ran out of the way of its hooves as it pawed at her, seeing it–
NO!
It was almost like time slowed to see the animal running away from her.
She knew she couldn't–
Yet her legs were pumping, her heart was racing, going in the rut the animal had made, launching herself up onto its kicking legs, losing her breath when they hit, but scrabbling her way up. It seemed her weight seated there atop the animal's back was nothing. She barely heard Luci behind her, coming up on their side, burying her teeth in the back of the animal's neck. It faltered, but kept running. She watched Luci keep pace with it, his breaths heaving out of him, ragged, but timed. And it was timed when he launched himself into the animal's side, up into its throat, and held on.
Annabella fell off as it thrashed, trying to steer clear of those hooves, feeling it strike upon her ribs, throwing herself to the side with a yelp.
All she could see from here was a writhing mass of body, of brown and black and blood and keening until finally, taking much longer than she would have thought, it stilled.
And Lucifer looked up with blood all over his jowls, panting, heaving.
She was frozen there in the snow, side aching, face hurting from where she'd been struck.
His first words surprised her fear right out of her, his voice hoarse as he padded over to her, exhausted, "Are you alright? Did you get hit?"
She whined, but cut herself off, reminding herself of where she was. "The cold numbs it."
He laughed. He laughed and he nosed her with those bloody jaws, inviting her in to the kill, though he seemed tense...
"Try it."
He didn't know what to do; this was all too unnatural for him. He was so used to being the only or one of the first to eat, shoving his way in, fighting for his right. But here... He– He knew she wouldn't understand or take kindly to that. And so it was with fading discomfort that he tucked on in next to her and kept his customary growls in his chest.
"You know," he said, tugging a piece of meat off rib, "Thanks to you, this is the first large kill I've had in a while. Thank you."
"I'm glad I could help!" And she sounded like she meant it. When she'd ran out of the way of the elk's hooves, he'd thought it'd been over. He hadn't expected her to face it like that in the first place, sick realization hitting when he realized she did not know the angles to come at the prey to keep herself safe.
And he hadn't expected her to jump so high.
Bliss ran through him as he ate, not so much minding the crows and ravens that squawked around them, focused only on the warmth of the kill in his belly and the warmth in his chest.
She was done much too soon, licking her reddened chops, asking, "Now what?"
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to eat some more?" he offered, raising his head. He'd not seen an adult eat that small of an amount. Ever.
"No thank you," she replied politely. "I'm stuffed!"
"Better than rations?" he teased gently.
She was very vocal in her agreement. "I've never eaten that much in my life."
Ah, good, then.
She stayed close while he kept eating, chasing the crows and ravens half-heartedly. And finally, when he had eaten all he could stand, full to the point of bursting it felt like, he walked a few paces away and lay down with a contented sigh.
She bounded over to him, her tail wagging right proper, such an adorable, exciting sight with her eyes all alight as she asked, "What happens now?"
"We nap," he declared contentedly, too full to join her in her play.
While he rested, she did a bit more picking on the carcass on and off, which he saw as a good sign, and some exploring as well.
When she ran down to the riverbed, he should have known something was about to go wrong.
"Luci!" she crowed loudly, fear evident.
He snapped to attention, hitting a run, skidding at the water's edge seeing her being chased by a mother guarding her baby. In the water.
"ANNABELLA, GET OUT OF THERE!" he roared. Dripping, she exited, looking back at the mother and calf, and shook while he frantically went to her, seeing her already begin to shake. "It's too cold!" he explained frantically, licking at her dripping cheeks fast and sloppy, lifting his head behind him, trying to find some kind of shelter here in the valley, trying to find a way to keep her warm–
"Come," he told her.
She mumbled to herself, "Oh dear..."
He snapped back around. "What? What's wrong?"
"My legs," she said, and when he looked down, he could have sworn he saw ice already beginning to form in her fur.
He led her to beneath a rise in the land, and she all but collapsed as he worried over her, curling up with her regardless of how damp she was, facing her this time, head bent to lick feverishly at her leg before him. She seemed to catch on, licking much more slowly at her other when he went for one of her back legs.
"I'm sorry," she murmured shakily.
"You're alright now– You're fine." he breathed between licks, trying to calm himself for her sake. This was fine. At least she didn't have to go running through snow again after. "It's too cold, and you get so cold already..." There were times where an icy river meant death, and there were times where it didn't.
"I'm sorry," she said much more softly.
He hushed her quietly, going for her other leg, then back to the first, and back again until he slowed and slowed and slowed...
When he raised his head, he was being bombarded with licks to his muzzle, hearing her tail wagging and swishing about the snow.
His first instinct was to curl his lip, ready to growl, but... He recognized this. It'd been so long, but he recognized this.
It took a moment, but, he overcame how odd it felt– for her sake– and reciprocated. She needed to know, too.
When she pulled back, she almost seemed shy, swinging her head away from him, saying softly, "I could go for that nap."
He craned his head over to hers, ending up rolling onto his side and back in the process to lick at the side of her neck where her wound was, getting lost in this. "Is that all?"
She took a quick inhale, looking down at how he was so playfully rolled, and he felt his tail wagging incessantly, waiting for something from her. And she had the nerve to laugh when she ambushed him, teeth dragging gently over the lighter-based fur at his throat. He rolled, challenged her with a tail held high, snow stuck to one side of him, but she shied away with a giggle, running away, it seemed, though she kept looking over her shoulder, her half-tucked tail wagging fast, her eyes bright, panting.
He gave chase.