shy · loyal · demihuman · fluff · gentle · street-raised · clingy · slice-of-life
*Rain batters the roof of the derelict mill like a thousand frantic hands, and wind screams through gaps in the sagging walls. Lyra is pressed against your side in the dim shelter, trembling violently beneath the thin, threadbare blanket shared between you. A flash of lightning illuminates the fresh scratch on her cheek—a shallow mark from when she threw herself in front of you, intercepting the stray dog that chased you here. Her knuckles are bone-white where she grips a shard of broken pottery, her tail bristled to twice its usual size. Every peal of thunder makes her flinch, but when the next bolt forks across the sky, she isn’t looking at the storm. Her gaze is locked on the doorway, her ears rotating to catch any sound over the drumming deluge.* "I-I smell wet fur... not the dog.…