Sketch and Halo
"Oh come on! We're almost there!" Sketch looked over his shoulder for his travelling partner for what must have been the hundredth time. Spotting her mottled fur some distance behind, he dashed through the grass again. Halo bounded after her overenthusiastic companion, while trying to take in the sights. After their mistress had given them permission to go out for a while (Sketch was practically begging to stretch his legs), he had dragged her to this place. Tropical foliage grew everywhere, and the scent of flowers filled Halo's sensitive nostrils. But Sketch didn't seem to be appreciating the scenery, he was just running forth, oblivious to everything else, as he usually was.
Panting, Halo caught up to Sketch, who had slowed his pace. She had no more strength in her wings to fly after him, as she had flown all the way through the jungle that surrounded the river. It had indeed been hard going, made harder by the fact that Sketch was rather hard to see in dim light. They were going up the river, and Sketch had promised Halo that whatever they saw beyond would be well worth the long run. "And besides," he had said, "It would be good exercise for you." Now he turned to the Sahound. "Just up here," he jerked his head toward a pile of rocks that led steeply upward. Halo took a few tentative steps up, but stepped on a loose rock and slid down on her belly. She glanced up at Sketch, who shook his head a little, and used his nose to push her upwards. Though he was somewhat transparent and unreal, his slightly wet nose was solid enough. He gave a little snort, and nudged her upwards again.
