Wick was all momentum.

Everything about him crashed forward at full speed. Curiosity. Emotion. Instinct. Chaos. He experienced life like every single moment deserved immediate investigation, preferably with paws.

Shyla was the opposite.

Slow movements. Quiet reactions. Careful steps. She moved through the world gently, like she understood exactly how fragile time really was.

And somehow, instead of clashing, they balanced each other.

The tiny chaos goblin and the elderly blind dog.

One overflowing with too much energy.

The other carrying the calm that only comes from surviving long enough to lose the need for urgency.

Even now, when I think about them together, I don’t remember frustration first.

I remember the softness of it.

The strange trust between two completely different creatures trying to understand each other in the middle of ordinary life.

Wick reaching down from the table.

Shyla pausing beneath him.

And the quiet little connection that formed there, one tail swat at a time.