[She slow blinks under his hand, letting a sigh, and for what he says, bumps her snout up into his palm with fussing whines. A sequence of licks follows, then she catches his fingers below middle-knuckles to hold in her teeth.
They don't sink. There's no drawing of blood, but they do leave a pressure of meaning, which is: I'm here with you. Then as if, in this way, she has a hand of her own to hold his by, she tries to lead him along. They're there together, and whatever he might feel, it'll be fine. Think of how pretty wonderful it will feel to get back into an area where he won't feel the way he's reluctant to face if he stands still.
Not that he gave her or that she took any indication from him that he'd do such a thing, but it's still her duty to make sure he doesn't feel completely desolate. To try.]
[ before even taking a step back towards the path, he could feel himself being pulled back into his thoughts. drowning in that overwhelming feeling of dread, wherein his mind would scramble to find any reason (all the reasons) to justify the feeling.
her gentle bite draws him back, teeth puncturing just enough to jar him out of his thoughts. the smile he gives her is strained, but sincere. he doesn't move his hand out of her mouth, allowing her to draw him along. ]
[Unable to walk on two legs, unable to hold his hand like other mothers, she still has this same sensation, and to make up for the tender smile she can't give him, she swishes her tail behind her instead. It's all right, it's all right. We'll go together.
It doesn't matter to her that it's not the best way to hold her head while she's walking, and is slightly uncomfortable, she holds his hand as long as he needs it. If she feels the shift of it as if he wants to draw it away, she will unlock her teeth and let him without complaint. If he has to stop to gather himself, she stops, too. Her guiding is sympathetic, she doesn't rush him, and no matter how long it might take them to reach the end of the path, she's stays, loyally and lovingly, ever his companion.]
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They don't sink. There's no drawing of blood, but they do leave a pressure of meaning, which is: I'm here with you. Then as if, in this way, she has a hand of her own to hold his by, she tries to lead him along. They're there together, and whatever he might feel, it'll be fine. Think of how pretty wonderful it will feel to get back into an area where he won't feel the way he's reluctant to face if he stands still.
Not that he gave her or that she took any indication from him that he'd do such a thing, but it's still her duty to make sure he doesn't feel completely desolate. To try.]
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her gentle bite draws him back, teeth puncturing just enough to jar him out of his thoughts. the smile he gives her is strained, but sincere. he doesn't move his hand out of her mouth, allowing her to draw him along. ]
Thanks, Lassie... Good girl.
[ honestly, he feels better already. ]
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It doesn't matter to her that it's not the best way to hold her head while she's walking, and is slightly uncomfortable, she holds his hand as long as he needs it. If she feels the shift of it as if he wants to draw it away, she will unlock her teeth and let him without complaint. If he has to stop to gather himself, she stops, too. Her guiding is sympathetic, she doesn't rush him, and no matter how long it might take them to reach the end of the path, she's stays, loyally and lovingly, ever his companion.]