WALKING WITH A GHOST

His lips quiver in mild entertainment of her words, and though he seems tranquil, the muscles of his shoulders have begun to involuntarily twitch, quaking beneath the knowledge of an impending battle. He allows her touch, and leans to it, salmon tongue lashing at the pinpoints of her dark whiskers. Somewhat unexpectantly he feels a wave of relief upon their contact, remembering a feeling that had been long since lost. Today, he is not plagued by their times of distrust, it does not pass his mind; in the moment, they are renewed. ?Age is not on my side,? he comments casually, tone somewhat free of obvious sentiment, ?But I won?t be swayed.? He has not spoken of the tumour that boils behind his thigh, hidden and unseen, not large enough to affect his movement as yet but he well knew it was there. Lips quiver with pleasure upon her plead of love, and though he cannot bring himself to repeat such to her, he cranes his throat affectionately over her muzzle, ?I hope you forever will.?