we're always running scared but holding knives
She'd know that roar anywhere, and yet when it first hits the air it has Isla's ears pinning, her lips pulling back in a silent snarl. She can't roar back, but when it does register to her, who the sound belongs to, she finds herself continuing to prowl forward. Maybe it's a little more low to the ground, the purposeful movements of a predator on the hunt rather than one on an amble through the jungle, but it's forward nonetheless.
And when the bridge does curve enough that she spots the Lullaby, although it clenches her heart in her chest and makes her want to run to him just as much as run away from him, she holds steady. It's not a growl so much as a grumble that leaves the thick ruff of fur around her neck, and - in a display that would probably surprise most travellers, but likely not Remi - she plonks herself down to sit on her haunches.
And when the bridge does curve enough that she spots the Lullaby, although it clenches her heart in her chest and makes her want to run to him just as much as run away from him, she holds steady. It's not a growl so much as a grumble that leaves the thick ruff of fur around her neck, and - in a display that would probably surprise most travellers, but likely not Remi - she plonks herself down to sit on her haunches.
Isla
