Étoille has spent enough days lazing inside the safety of Drageda's border. Without the presence of their enemies in the Sound he feels comfortable enough to slip down the coast for a bit, careful to give a wide berth lest the bear heda and her wolves encountered still lay in wait. 

The weather has finally warmed, bringing with it memories of his last summer in the Teekons. Nearly a year since he discovered Drageda, he realises. And how much things have changed, haven't they? The heat and the smell of salt bring forth the right mood for nostalgia as the titan winds his way along the shore. As he nears the Cape he slows, taking large, lazy steps into the gently lapping waves that curl around the sands, crystal clear.

It has been some time since he's thought of his delicate companion -- in the time since their last meeting there has been a whole war, a whole generation born, and all the mindless days in between to fill it out. Truthfully Furi is who lingers in the back of his mind these days, keeping one eye peeled for sign or scent of her (she'd often wandered the coast, no?) despite his doubt they will encounter each other again soon. 

So when the silence is broken he does not register her at first, until she is close enough to make out and -- oh -- surprise crosses his wound-marked face, settling into bright warmth as he moves toward her, removing the distance with large steps. There is an almost joyful lightness in the way he bounds towards her, uncharacteristically so for him. He finds his voice as he's near enough to embrace her (should she allow him the privilege), saying only, "Mirabelle."

Assured that is really is her, his expression relaxes back into a more usual fare, still warm. She doesn't smell like he remembers. That sticks out to him, though he can get hints of it -- what he can remember -- here or there. A soft, pleased rumble escapes him as she touches him and says his name. "Grayday said you'd left," he says, no accusation in his tone -- merely a comment, the way one would remark on the weather. Étoille does not begrudge her in the slightest, after all. "I am glad to see you again," he adds to this  effect, pulling back just slightly to get a better look at her.

She's so similar and yet so different -- like he must be. His nearblack eyes shift across her form, observing new scars, the new ways the lines of her body wrap. He remembers his scars and feels briefly anxious, even ashamed that he is less handsome than he used to be (for his vanity makes him keenly aware of this fact). Will she still like him? Or will this be another of their chance encounters before she vanishes back on the mist, a recurring ghost in his life? He hopes not, but there is little he could do to cage her. So he cannot dwell on it. Instead he sighs, offering a faint smile, and repeats, "I am glad."

Étoille, too, feels that pull to her, though he does not have the words to describe the experience. He is too simple, too unconcerned with the pursuit of fundamental truths to try and put a pin in their relationship. He would like her to stay. He does not expect her to stay. This is enough for him for now.

"Oui," he confirms, glancing involuntarily in the direction of their borders. "There was a war," he tells her, the first of the fundamental events that have occured in their distance, "I lived amongst the enemy for some time." Self consciously he dips his head, thinking again of his scars. 

And, of course, "I've missed you too."

The gesture is healing. His confidence has suffered, and perhaps, more than he'd like to admit, it has been tied to her -- or what she represents, subconsciously. None of this needs to be said or dwelled on. Étoille watches her as she speaks, a small chuckle escaping him. "I believe you are right," he agrees softly, thinking of Drageda's customs, of how isolated Furi had felt as an outsider. Étoille's nature allows him to slip into strange places and become accustomed -- the quality that makes him an adept Steltrona. But he can recognize that he is... odd for this. And he would not want to try to force Mirabelle to be somewhere she is not suited.

"But somehow, I feel as though we will remain connected," the titan says, reflective of their habits of re-encounter. He smiles and reaches to brush her cheek with his nose, confident in that fact. "Are you staying in the wilds?"

Étoille likes the way the word she uses sounds -- soulbound -- it rolls through him like a slow tide, coming to settle in his chest. There is not an exact replicate for it in his language, but he offers "âme soeur," soul sisters, bound together through some fate they cannot touch. To her question he nods, turning his great frame to the north. He, himself, has not traveled far beyond the Tangle that way, preferring the sun and salt of the coast. But he will gladly lead Mirabelle wherever she wishes to go -- there is no need for him to rush back home, after all -- and perhaps he can try to glean more clues as to Furi's whereabouts, as well. 

With a soft rumble he shifts, looking to her. "Shall we?"