Honeyed Pasture inside, he was longing for something to be a part of

She had turned to leave, and he felt bad for pulling her away, his distress waning as her tone was kinder than he expected. Another answer in the negative. Phocion gave a shrug of his thin shoulders, understanding. The coast was long; how could he expect this woman to have the answers he sought?

The search would continue.

"Thank you, um. . ." He trailed off, realizing he didn't have her name. The white priest dipped his muzzle to her in slightly awkward gratitude, smiling. "My name is Phocion. If you see Cortland. . .tell him Phocion is looking for him."

With a final wag of his tail, he made to leave, eager to get on his way, to keep looking. God knows where the Mayfair found himself now. Phocion could only hope it was a safe place.