Flots stared, entranced, as Gwenllian of the Corgi entered the room. His thick tail hung motionless, his paws searching for a place to be, lungs trying to recall how to breath. In all the time he'd traveled with her, for all the times he'd laid eyes upon her, still she made his spirit soar.
Gwen strode on, paws whispering along ancient white marble. Light streamed through stone archways, shimmering over her simple garments. Fur alight, ears aglow. Unaware of her captivating beauty, she padded to a drawing table and unraveled the ethereal seal a crystal shard to let the spell drift free. Her keen eyes studied every curve of the magic weave. Skilled digits traced the pattern into her notebook, where it joined the dozens of other she'd collected. Just as otters sought stories, the Corgi breed sought enchantments, charms, evocations, even hexes, all to improve their own healing arts.
He'd gained many stories traveling with her. Few realized, for example, that the jigs of the agrarian Cardigans mirrored the ancient battle poses of Pembroke monks. Or that jackal nobles could summon flame with a hiccup, and therefore held hiccup cures in great esteem. Or that the arcane texts of the Corgi filled entire libraries, which is how they'd been able to restore their magic so soon after the Core Being awoke. Whenever they'd visited his home raft-town, they'd held great festivals in honor of the tales he brought home.
The traditional tropes of lutrine courtship seemed only to mystify her. The epic ballads he'd composed made her blush. Flopping into her lap made her yip and spill her tea. Even the bouquet of exotic fish he'd crafted for her drew only a wry quirk of her eyebrow. She'd even asked if she had to put it in water! He'd convinced the faerrets to fly him the freshest and most colorful fish in the known world and she thought them art. Well, they were art, but proper, edible art.
Still, she traded stories with him by day and held him close by night. She even seemed to pay no mind to her mother's wholly valid cautions about otter capriciousness. She somehow loved him in spite of his charm, which the lutrine found both flattering and insulting. But her gentle assurance allayed any gripes he might have, just as her beauty now drew his attention from the tome of bawdy badger prose he'd been reading.
Those emerald eyes caught him looking. A smile rose through her natural bashfulness, buoyed by amusement. A subtle wag swayed the back of her dress, drawing his gaze to that ample bottom. Her dainty paw cupped his cheek ruff. She stood, eager ears perked, bashful whiskers drooped, a complex narrative of shy confidence playing out across her body language.
He leaned close and let his nose touch hers. In a world of stories, Flots found himself happy to know in which plot line he belonged.
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I've been meaning to post this pic for ages, but was waiting for the right story to come along. So today I decided to make that story come along! It has been too long, after all, since Faerret Tales appeared in everyone's feed. : D
