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A pair of silhouettes crested the ridge.
Two cats. White, immaculate, and infuriatingly graceful despite the mud. The taller of the two was wearing a red ribbon and a show cape. The other—stoic, silent, green-bowed—followed behind like an unwilling chaperone.
“Bonjour, mes amis!” declared the first one, spinning his cane dramatically. “Lyney, the Magnificent! And this is my sister, Lynette. Arlecchino’s strongest pups, reporting for duty!”
Cyno’s tail flicked. “She sent cats.”
Gorou blinked. “But she said—pups.”
Collei whispered, “Maybe she meant it metaphorically.”
Lyney twirled and winked. “She meant it artistically, dear forest cat. And if I’m not mistaken…” he slinked closer to Gorou, inspecting him with a grin, “—you’re even cuter in person than the reports said.”
Gorou’s ears shot up. “Wh–what reports?! Who’s writing reports?!”
“Everyone’s writing reports,” Lyney purred, circling him. “The heroic little Shiba who howled the army to safety. Tragic. Adorable. Marketable.”
“Stop narrating me!” Gorou yipped.
Lynette sighed, tail flicking. “Ignore him. He’s like this with everyone.”
