Stepping from the water, Atlas circled her form, coming to sit beside the injuries which were beyond the cleansing reach of her own tongue. This is far from the first time he has seen her wounded and vulnerable; it seemed eons since he had scooped her unconscious form from the river after having chased off the ugly black dog that had assaulted her. The intimacy of that night in the den, when a juvenile two year old gave his bodily warmth to the ravaged adult female, seemed to echo in these moments as his tongue bathed over her wounds in silence. The look of disappointment and fatigue upon Fiammetta's features tugged at his maturing heart strings. As she leaned into his touch, a soft puff of warm air escaped his nostrils to wash over her face, a sign of his contentment in this moment. The shyness of youth was washing away from him, a growing confidence in himself bolstered whenever they came together. Despite his feelings of failure in his inability to aid in the cause they had set forth to work towards, it just felt right when they were together.

When she pulled away from him he halted his licking, eyes flicking over her face, thinking that he must have pressed too hard and caused her undue pain. His brows lifted in surprise, then, when she moved to embrace him. Her slighter head, marred by the trials she had endured, nuzzled into his maturing chest. The pristine white of her snout mingled with the hues of chocolate that faded the further down his neck she traveled. Swallowing hard, his tongue licked forward once more, this time washing only over his own russet painted lips. His ears flickered back then forward again as she withdrew and proffered her injury to his cleansing touch once more. Without thought he resumed the action of bathing her wound. If there had been a moment to reciprocate her affection, he had missed it, lost in his surprise at her display. Words came then, and he listened as she spoke of her failures. Brows pulled together, frustrated by how she apologized to him. If anything, she deserved to hear his apology for his lack of ability to truly aid her in this quest. It was when she spoke of an inability to prevent the reproduction of the dogs that the typical 'hmm' that so often escaped him without thought when giving pause during speech reverberated through his lips. He continued to run his tongue over the wounded eye socket through the sound, letting her finish before ceasing his methodic licking.

As her voice faded his was heard for the first time that day. "The fire was not wrong. But maybe it is...hmm...the wrong target we have been aiming for." After all, had the black mongrel not first made her presence known to Fiammetta only hours after The Burning? Could there not be some connection there, some underlying meaning that they had overlooked? But before he could say more on the issue, the proximity between them was lost as Fiammetta quite literally slid away from him, her lithe form disappearing beneath the surface of the water before he had truly realized where she had gone. Pale golden eyes looked down at the single orb of fiery red that stared back up at him. The look of pain and disappointment had all but evaporated from her features, replaced by something unfamiliar. Familiar to him, but not in this context, in this company. He'd been raised in a happy family with two loving siblings, and playful was an expression he knew well from his youth. Here and now, however, it caught him off guard, and so his response was delayed. That was, of course, until the water she cast in his direction broke the tension from his body and without further delay he joined her in the icy waters.

Atlas had circled her only once, his golden tail floating on the water's surface in front of her good eye as he came around her hindquarters, when he was about to return her former splash with one of his own. The movement was stilled, however, by the presence of another. Immediately his hackles bristled in a defensive manner, ready to protect Fiammetta from whatever creature may have sought her out by the scent of her wounded state. But as soon as his gaze locked with the momentary glance thrown in his direction, his fur laid flat once more. Despite never having met the immense female that stood upon the banks before, she felt familiar and safe, as if she could be trusted. His nostrils flared, testing the air and begging for a taste of her scent. Stepping forward through the water, Atlas pressed his shoulder against Fiammetta's; he was unable to break his gaze from the brindled female. Despite feeling a demanding tug towards her in the pit of his stomach, he was rooted to the spot by his physical connection with Fiammetta. "Quis es?Who are you?" he asked, slipping into the angel's language for what he did not realize was the first time in Fiammetta's company. But he felt rocked to his core, and Latin came easier to him than the common tongue in these moments.