She loves this river. More than almost anything else in the entire universe she loves this river. It’s enchanted her since youth, and it’s been there for her to adore and to watch and to flow and to change… and she adores it. Everything is pure and simple and clean when it comes to the river. Delya moves forward on gentle paws, head dipping to the mirrored surface to take a drink. Ripples. Ripples around her muzzle, enough ripples to tickle her nose and for her to laugh. Oh how the creature has learned to love how to laugh. What a wonderful quality, if she does say so herself.
The Technicolor dreamer can’t help herself. It’s one of the very first really and truly warm days of spring. One of those days that’s so pure it makes winter almost worth it—without winter, you’d never treasure these days. Yes, such a day that she can’t hold herself back. When Delya thinks no one is watching, she flings her lithe body into the river. The crystalline surface is shattered by the ripples, and she laughs at that too. Splashing—fabulous, wonderful, beautiful splashing. It’s hard for her not to look graceful, and even in play she looks every bit the athlete. Big, goofy athlete. delya
hound’s
tarquin x makism x hush
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