Totoka River and stood awhile in thought

Dawn.

It poured spindly fingers of light across the world, and Blossom hadn’t left yet.

She meant to! Really, she did! But she fought herself with every step until one night spent in the bay became two, two became four, and she’d rather lost count by now. But today, she set out! She left a single flower at the mouth of the den behind her, and she began walking. And here she was, heralded by the dawn, cheerily singing a shanty as she walked.

Snowdrop sung in tune, flying accompaniment as the two walked in step together. Blossom even threw in a quick 1-2 step, both a dance as well as a near trot.

the melancholia settled into his bones, alluvial pain spiraling from a neolithic wound. lestan was able to feel around its edges with raw fingertips, but the scar itself was ugly with the infection of grief.
he had stopped talking, stopped even his half-hearted swipes at tangled fur. he slept and when he was not sleeping, he roamed, carrying the deer-amulet.
soon they would leave for the creek.
the mayfair was no longer certain he wished to go. he no longer knew if he had the strength to leave the sea, to leave the place where they had once stood whole. every time he tried to think of it, to push his mind forward the way he pushed his limbs/his breath/his heart — every time, he could not; he collapsed inside himself.
it was the unknowing which tormented him. the flashes of pain and light, the separation, the blackness, the waking. he had never been able to move past that moment in time, and he wandered toward it now.
all he wished was to be alone, and it struck him suddenly that he was not; annoyed, lestan veered toward the infuriating float of a tune upon the morning air.
tinged in the seabreeze was —
— was
he became immobile, staring at the golden figure dancing beside the rivers he had fished while avoiding the thought of abandoning this place to sand.
lestan trembled with a sudden fierce hope so violent that he was almost sick.
golden; dancing; gilded sea; doefire; seawind;
the talisman fell from his mouth. 
blossom! lestan cried, but his voice had gone weak and hoarsened to nothing with his frantic shouts.

Blossom’s laugh was a gentle chime of a bell, as she swirled a circle beneath Snowdrop’s wings. The bird dipped low beneath her muzzle, swinging high again and hovering there for a time.

Then, Snowdrop was gone, winging across the sky.

Snowy? But the bird did not respond, tittering high and almost frantic as he swept across the lands beside the river. She stopped in place, watching as the wheeling shrike pulled her attention out of dancing to-.

To-!

A shape. With soft features, gilded eyes (one color so similar to her own). A face she hadn’t seen for so many months but had never quite forgotten.

Was it-?

Papa?

Of all the things the dancing girl wanted to say to him, they evaporated on her tongue like smoke. She could only stare in shocked silence as Snowdrop swung back around to perch on her head, cheeping up a storm.

papa?
lestan mayfair did not want to breathe.
he did not want to believe.
he did not want to do anything which might dash the hope of blossom which seemed to stand in a vision before him.
lestan did not know what was real and what was not.
the bird flapped and called.
the mayfair reached breathless, haunted, desperate arms to the gilded figure, sitting down hard in the sand as his tears overflowed once more.

Rose Blossom Mayfair watched in silence.

For a girl once so vibrant, she spent most of her time in quiet these days. Even with her want to travel, to be a minstrel, and with Snowdrop reminding her to be happy, sometimes she was just quiet.

Slowly, she walked across the sand as if in a trance. Snowdrop took flight, and she was gilded with sunlight. Her snowy haunches glowed ethereal in the light as she reached out a glowing, gleaming paw to her father, using the nails of the toes to catch one of his tears. It wobbled on the nail, before plopping to the sandy ground.

Is it you? She asked in a soft whisper.

"it is me."
how she had grown! how tall she was, and yet small, girlish and yet with a hint of the woman she might be. all he had missed, embodied now before him —
i thought you were dead, said a tiny voice inside him, one the mayfair harshly bit back — for a moment he only assured himself she was indeed existent, indeed real.
"i'm s-so s-sorry, blossom. i'm s-so —" his chin was tremulous; the corners of his mouth moved in emotional twitches; the tears were running once more. "i n-never knew what h-happened, not to t-this day."

It was him, and she saw it at once.

It’s okay.

Blossom hadn’t had the time or will to grieve, with her mother’s whirlwind romances with Boone and Dusty Rose, for the man who raised her. Her face split into a smile, tears welling in her eyes as she ducked her head down to mash against Lestan’s.

It’s okay. Her voice wobbled heavily, and immediately she reached to draw him into an embrace.

lestan let out a hiccuping sob but otherwise found himself moving forward, nestling her into his embrace, and her into her own.
he was complete, at least in this moment.
and after a time, the mayfair leaned back to look at her. "i've f-found s-some others. good people. they've b-been helping me to l-look for you." his eyes were keen. "i'd l-like to introduce y-you, if that's all right, blossom. but after, after that, truly, w-we can g-go anywhere you want." even out of the teekon, if it was what she desired. lestan was done choosing the narrative for himself.