The ocean awakened Embry that morning, but it's rhythm seemed oddly offbeat today. Move. Move you idiot. That's what it seemed to be telling him, and yet... why? His emerald orbs flickered out across the sea. All day he had done this: stared with a frown at his childhood friend, listening to the wind buffet his thick, fur of honey — now cast bronze by the evening light. 

In the midst of his stupor, the young man decided it was time to explore the rest of his newfound home. The coast was a large and sprawling place. Surely there was more beauty than just along the strand, astounding though it was. Plus, he needed time to think. It seemed that today, of all days, the ocean was finally digging that lone thorn in his side: the one that had been nagging at him since... 

He shook his head; forced his large paws into motion away from the foamy shore. His large frame ambled in this way until, with the ocean somewhat muted behind him, a scent settled upon his palette. So familiar... so painful... Yes, he might not be physically ailed, but phantom pains did not spare him. She had been a part of him; of who he was. Even now, his first love - the ocean - told him of it. 

That's when he spotted her: a bird along the skyline. His mind told him, no, it can't be her, but his heart was alive again — alive and tapping away in that long-forgotten tattoo. He drew himself to full consciousness, willing his doubts to persuade him against such fleeting hopes as this. Manifest before him, the girl he stole. But the girl he never should have given back. And was she... hurt?

It lifted upon his lips like warm, soothing water. Feyre. And then, as she stood, there it came again, a whisper now, "Feyre..," until he could only run. The brute looked like a bear hurtling forwards, racing through the lemony strands faster than ever he had before. And when he reached her, he couldn't stop his old self — the closer he got, the more his doubts melted away. The more he needed her again. And he halted there, only pawsteps away, panting with those wide, cow-like orbs of sea-green. Words failed him.

Feyre had changed. Embry had noticed it within seconds; had felt the aura that surrounded her as soon as he arrived. He tried to mask the pain that flowed, like torrents, into his steady gaze. He willed his breathing to halt enough it its incessant hammering to allow him the ability to speak.

To explain everything. How could he put it into words? How do you begin the repair of a broken relationship? Her words cut like daggers into his heart and soul. But all along, he had been expecting them. And they helped ease the guilt, somewhat. He needed this just as much as he hated to admit it. 

She was backing away. No, his mind screamed. No, not again! Not now. And upon the impulse, he lifted his paw gingerly forwards; afraid that she would run and just as afraid that it was he that she was recoiling from. But, of course, he knew the answer to that. He had hurt her. Feyre, of all things.

"Do you..." his fruity voice was jagged between breaths. "Do you remember what I said to you the night before I... left...?" 

Embry closed his eyes at the fae's bitter tone. When he opened them again, they were not defiant; nowhere close to defensive. They were utterly contrite: full of disbelief, love, and that same tenderness as the day they'd first found peace. Would they always meet like this? Fighting at the onset?

"Feyre... I told you that I loved you. I really loved you. And," he released a heavy sigh; oxygen he had been storing for what felt like years. All the pain and regret chipping at his core now, more than ever before. "I still do love you."

He shook his head again; laughed but ruefully - something that didn't touch his eyes. "Why would I hurt something I loved so much on purpose?" And he met her gaze again. This time his emotions were mixed; harder but all the more soft in their passionate carriage. "What was I supposed to do, Feyre? I stole you from a better life with a pack that could provide for you. I wasn't about to watch you die, so I chose the next best option." 

He saw it: for a fleeting moment, the ghost of a smile flit upon her lips. That smile that, even now, in the afterglow, lit up the waning embers of dusk. Embry's heart seemed to skip a beat at that moment.

What she said was true. In fact, it made perfect sense to Embry; it had, after all, been the exact words he had debated against himself with. He had left her to fend for herself, alone. And, as idiotic as it sounds, it had been intentional. All this stormed through Embry's mind as she spoke, adding to the sting of each syllable. 

His tail swayed slowly behind him, peaceful and rhtyhmic. Where did that smile go? How he wanted it back. That and so much more. "I just... I didn't know," he murmured; eyes clouded in thought. He was replaying that night in his head, just as he had a thousand times before. "We were in a safe place... It just seemed like you deserved more. And without me, that was possible. Anything was possible for you."

He couldn't explain it. Every word felt like a lead weight upon his chest. "Winter was coming. I was no amazing hunter — there was a reason I wanted that damned carcass so bad, Feyre. My first pack within the Fen had just collapsed... I was a loner again and I didn't understand the responsibility of companionship... But I've found Stormrift and... Everything I do teaches me just how wrong my actions were that night." 

One of the things he loved about Feyre was her resilience. He didn't expect her to easily recover or even accept his presence. But an apology seemed like the coward's way out; too easy and too final. He didn't need her to tell him it was ok, he needed her. Feyre. The girl he fell in love with more than the ocean itself.

Every word she spoke was true. Indeed, this was not the first instance in which they had plagued his mind; jabbed at his lungs like claws through his ribs. But he had never heard them from Feyre, and that's what made this all the more painful to withstand.

He just kept watching her — sea-green orbs locked upon her every movement, drinking in the sudden familiarity of her presence and the warmth it entailed. He didn't realize it, but there were parts that he missed now more than ever: parts of her he had forgotten about besides everything that had pestered him for the months following her absence. Mon doux... The word made a smile flit to his lips; brief but visible even in the auburn light. A breeze seemed to rise upon the grass and push the field into a velveteen quake around them.

Could have been? The moment glitched within that statement. And then he almost flinched at the tone of her voice mentioning his newfound home. He had completely forgotten about that, and it certainly made his case look a lot worse.

"I had to find the ocean again," his voice was lower than before, but steady; even. "I grew up on the beach and... it was all I could think to do. I was depressed and I can't imagine what I might have done to myself had I not found the Rift."

Surely she understood that had it been the other way around, he would have searched for her. He would have traversed the ends of the earth for Feyre. How could she not believe that?

"I'd never ask for anything from you..," his voice was almost a whisper now. He had not heard his name upon her lips in so long. "I just miss you. So much. And I promise you I did not mean to abandon you. That's not what I thought I was doing... You just sounded so noncommital. It made me believe that maybe you regretted everything. So I decided by leaving, I wasn't putting you in that position anymore." It all sounded so messed up in the evening air; like some kind of unfair joke the world was playing upon him. He wanted to go back to that night and understand just what he was thinking, that he would give up this one piece of heaven.

Her head had tilted now. Ribbons of honey raced from the slender curve of her cheek to the shoulder, bathed now in lavender twilight. He lost himself in the amber grace of Feyre's presence; lost himself in her voice — painful though it was to hear in such a broken tone. He wanted to kill whatever had hurt her and, yet, he had become the paradox. 

She repeated everything he had already heard before: things the world told him with every shift of his paws, whistle of the sand, and rush of the sea. Embry could only listen now and wonder how many times before he had awaited this moment. And no matter what she said, he would never take offense. Never. Because he knew, in the back of his mind, that he deserved it. And it showed in those oceanic pools; in the slight squaring of his shoulders; the pendulous sway of his caramel-pleated tail. 

A familiar heat encopsed his body, too, as he stood there, peering through the gathering darkness. He became increasingly aware of the adrenaline rushing through his veins and the friction that welled within his abdomen like a knot. His breathing had considerably softened, even when Feyre's voice rose; even when it made him shudder all the more and clench his jaw.

A long silence followed in which he only searched her gaze. When he spoke, his voice was as cool as ice — not so much in anger towards her so much as it was towards his own inability to explain everything. "What I did that night was a mistake, Feyre, and I have paid for it everyday since," he dropped his gaze. Shook his head again with a muffled sigh. "But I never just ran away."

"I thought of you every night. My heart has been with you in everything... It never mattered to me that you were necessarily "committed". I hate putting it that way. Like you can label love..," he had to shut his eyes now. To see her, even in his peripherals, was enough to make his body tremor; the heat within his chest jumping like sparked flames.

All Embry wanted to do was comfort her. Feyre. The only creature daring enough to trust him so much. And when he raised his gaze again, he watched how her eyes fluttered among the stars. Her beauty was so natural; so fulfilling. The moon upon her heavenly fur enunciated the soft, feminine curvature of her shoulders; the subtle rounding of her hips and the gentle stir of her breast that, even in such turmoil, rose and fell in even tempo. He thought of all those times he had listened to that heartbeat. Wondered if that is why he loved the ocean so much.

And then her eyes met his. His stomach clenched, heat rolling like chills upon his back and along the muscles of his pelvis. Her words barely seemed to register — they just sounded so artificial; so surreal. His eyes spoke what his vocals failed to stammer: that he needed her to trust him. That he had been a fool.

A million sounds thrusted themselves into his mind; tinny, broken things that felt like cheap shots just to hurl at her. He felt like he was sliding and there was nothing solid to catch himself from falling. Falling hard. Which was ironic, because had he not already?

But what could he do? He stepped forward; stammered, "Feyre..," and then again, "No, it's so dark... It's so dangerous here... Just please... Wait..." But he had already felt the snap. Like a safety harness: that single snip that made the world nothing more than a blur and then... nothing.