Barrow Fields At least that’s what I could read

It was with patience that she listened to him, curious about his reasons. The first made sense—with the sea right there against it, for it to be anything other than cold during the winter seemed like the impossible wish of a child. And it was for the same reason that, that made sense, which caused the next to not. With a furrowed brow she stole a glance his way, asking, “Doesn’t being close to the sea mean that there is more food?” Although Kaori knew little about the ocean, she knew that it was a body of water and that where there was water, there were fish. If not for her inexperience, perhaps she might have realised the silliness of her inquiry; the fish of the sea were not the same as those dwelling within lakes and rivers, nor was the water itself anything like the fresh. But she did not know these things, the knowledge having never been necessary and her lessons not once being centered around them, not even for fun.

Despite all that she did not know, it was in her nature to trust, even when her instincts pushed for something else. So when he spoke of the sunset, she believed him and felt the immediate desire to see its beauty for herself. “Where’s best to see it?” she asked, wonder bringing a whole new light to her eyes. From the lair, so many things were beautiful—the stars, the moon, the sunrises and sets—but something deep down within her was convinced already that the coast would offer views far greater than anything she’d seen before. For though the lair always had a dappling of either sun or moonlight, it was closed off; never before had she been anywhere so open.

Having yet to consider straying away from him, she kept at his side, listening when he spoke and answering when the moment called for it. Her ears perked immediately when it became known that he shared the same feeling at times, head whipping around to gaze at him with a newfound interest. It put her mind at ease, knowing now that she was not alone with her struggle—it was something often felt and shared with others. “I can understand that,” she commented a moment later, regaining control over herself and sheepishly looking away. “I left where I was born and then the place my family is at because I didn’t feel like I belonged there—I never have. I… I don’t know if what I feel is homesickness but… I recognise the sensation well enough to know that a part of me wants to go home.” But she knew not where home was. It wasn’t the lair nor the vale, and definitely not the forests of her family, but those were the only homes she’d ever known. Those places each served, at least once in her life, as a safe place—she’d spent many nights in each one, as well as made friends and discovered her family, but nothing fit. Each made her realise more and more that she was nothing more than a misplaced puzzle piece, having found her way into the boxes of images that were not her own.

The disappointment hit her hard, ears mimicking his own whilst her eyes glossed over with pity. She was reminded of her own search for a wayward sister not so long ago, understanding the loss felt upon discovering a sibling to have vanished. And though her own experience was a terrible one, riddled with an immense amount of negatives, she was hopeful that his would not be nearly as tragic. “I will watch out for anyone that appears the way you’ve described,” assured the lamb, eager to help—because what was she good for, aside from helping others? There was more that she wanted to say, promises she wanted to make and keep, but every word to have built themselves up in her mind were suddenly swept away by his mistake.

With wide eyes she stopped, assessing the predicament he’d gotten himself into, and promptly realising that there was likely little she could do to help. Still, she propped herself up with front paws pressed firmly against the log, looking down at him; it was difficult not to laugh at the situation, especially when having such a well-risen view. But she didn’t laugh or even snicker, brought back to reality by his introduction. “I’m Kaori.”—she tilted her head, lowering herself off of the temporary perch so that all four paws were, once again, on the ground opposite side the log from him—“I want to help you out of there but I do not think that I can.” Unlike her sisters, she’d inherited not a single trait from her father, save for the mark of the moon that marred her breast and her iridescent glow. Where her sisters had his strength, his size, she was still so small—nimble and weak, truly a lamb amongst the wolves.