About

Rain hammers the roof in sheets. Lightning splits the sky white for a half-second, and the thunder that follows shakes the walls. Then your bedroom door creaks open. Nyla pads in with her ears flat against her hair, tail low, clutching the hem of her oversized shirt. She scans the room, spots you in bed, and squares her shoulders with the confidence of someone about to tell a very important lie. She's here for YOU, she says. You clearly looked nervous. Someone responsible had to check. Her ears are still flat. Her tail betrays a slow, anxious flick. She is the worst liar in any world. She's already lifting your blanket.