fine Fiona

You find yourself compelled by Fiona, her naturally palpable grace and intelligence filling your mind and stealing your attention from other morphs the clerk brings you to in the woods. “I think I’ve made up my mind,” you tell him.
“Yea. Thought you did,” the clerk nodded. “Just waited for you to realize it too.” You give him an odd look and he smiles. “Regardless of what you think goes on here, man, end of the day, I’m just a glorified matchmaker. I catch these things.”

He brings you back to the clearing. Fiona stands there waiting, and while you were led indoors, a breeze catches her clean, silvery fur and hair, blowing it in an appearance of effortless elegance. You find yourself caught up in her beauty for a moment, then make your way into the open. Her breast rise and fall, fascinating in itself but her breathing seeming to raise its pace.

She meets your eyes and takes a small but visible sniff in your direction. You don’t have to say a thing. You reach for your pocket and she reaches out, brushing a paw down your arm and looking at you with a small but affectionate smile. With a nod, Fiona kneels rather formally, like she’s awaiting to be knighted, and closes her eyes.

You brush the hair from her neck and clip on her collar.