Sequoia Coast poptarts are ravioli

There it was.

Artaax didn’t flinch as the proverbially dam broke and the waves of Furi’s emotion came battering against him. He was still as she snapped at him and flung angry words about, speaking of a she that Artaax could only assume was Blixen. He figured it had to be something like this. The facts revolving around Furi’s and Blixen’s recent slides into melancholy were too well lined up to be coincidence. 

”She didn’t tell me anything,” he replied, calm as ever, as though he were not speaking to an angry, crying girl but to a superior about the weather, ”You were gone too long.” It was not exactly the most illuminating of explanations, but it was what he had to offer. He had known something was wrong not because Blixen had uttered a word, but because Furi had shown him of her own accord, in her own unique way. Artaax was ignorant of a lot - intentionally and unintentionally so - but he was not an idiot. Sometimes.

The yearlong didn’t pry further. He studied Furi as the tears fell down her cheeks for a few silent moments before he stepped towards her. The odd scent of her flooded his nostrils again, bothering him, but he shoved it irritably away as he shifted his position to face the same direction as she and slid to his haunches directly beside her. He said nothing more then - simply sat next to her. It was his wordless way of showing that he was there for her. In spite of the hardness in his manner or the careless, sometimes/regularly judgmental calm of his gazes, he was there.

It felt super weird. He was gonna be pissed if this didn’t help her.