You don’t remember where you learned the colorful word, but it described her scent perfectly. The smell of a warm rain on dry ground. You glance at the shampoo bottle in the corner of the tub. It’s not coming from the soap, must just be the way her fur smells when wet…like a dog…but a lot better. After a minute you stop. She opens her eyes and blinks a few times to clear them. Content that the itching was gone she pushes back into your chest, looking up at you with a smile. The damp fur of her back wets your chest and her wings readjust as she awkwardly tilts her head back to nuzzle the side of your face, “Heh, Dash, you’re still a bit wet.” Despite your comment you hold her against you.