Her fingers dig into the soft fur, and the girl in her lap makes small chirps and growls of delight. She is tucked into one corner, back to the sea, facing the hills which blaze out yellow (and blue, that rich indigo blue, the flowers like bells) (and red, red-black, like the scales of a snake) (and purple, sheep-wool-curled purple clinging to the hills). Beside her the hound-girl reclines, head in her lap, playing at watching the clouds. The hound is one-in-two, the ones that share their thoughts. So when she digs her nails in, when she rubs circles in the fur, when she fluffs up an ear, it’s two people that feel the joy of being pampered.

Her hands are disconnected from her head, which watches the colors go by in their vast swathes. She’s seen colors like those before, hanging in the sky. Was it a sky? It wasn’t really anything like the sea, now, was it? Those impossible clouds melt under her tongue like candyfloss in bursts of flower petals.

The hound heaves shoulders up into her lap. She responds by rubbing and playing with the exposed throat, and the sound of the hound’s tail hitting the chariot bed is near-deafening, a drum solo of enthusiasm and joy. “Right there. [i]Right[/i] there. I can see why you had a thing for her. My sister’s [i]so[/i] lucky, isn’t she?”

Sisters? Sisters, then. Yes. Maybe an in-law one day. It’s fine to have a sister-in-law on your lap, tongue lolling, panting, grabbing at wrists whenever they seem to be drifting away so that she can pull them back to their work. A bond of friendship-through-association being strengthened with scritchies.

Thump, thump! Speak of the Beloved and she will appear. The hound playfully leers up at her sister, mimicking the act of taking a photograph. The girl instead stares, respectfully. She could join in, but there’s a head in her lap, and they’ll both hunt her down if she stops. Instead she just intently studies the way her Beloved stretches, the lift of one heel, the muscles working under her skin.

Thoughts of skirts will bedevil her long after the sound of bells moves on, moving up the line.