Phantom Hollow Made of gold, I'll never love a

@Dusty Rose if you want it <3

Her gait had slowly begun to steady; the dizziness subsided in stages, and Reverie felt that soon she would be ready to move forward. Soon, but not yet. In the mean time, she felt almost trapped. Stagnant.

It was driving her a little mad. So she set off alone, circling the outskirts of the quiet woodland as if she meant to stake a claim of her own. Repetitive, soothing work — and perhaps she would learn something too, perhaps she would find something.

Life was such bullshit, sometimes. He'd found her trail and he'd felt like he found her, but it was still days and days before he even felt close. His wounds from the coastal assholes were scabbed over by now, but it still hurt. Everything still hurt. And his paws were bloody from walking, and his head was swimming with dehydration. Where was a river when he needed it? Why did they only block his path when he was trying to get somewhere?

So he was a little peeved with the world, even when he scent grew strong.

"Reverie, god damn it!" he hollered, his voice hoarse but still plenty loud and forceful. "You'd better get your fluffy ass over here, if you know what's good for you!"

Dusty Rose.

She was shrieking before she knew she was — DUSTY ROSE! — and there was the scent of blood on him, but it didn't matter just then. Reverie didn't stop when she reached him; she crashed right into him, still shrieking, and wrapped herself around him with her teeth harmlessly raking his jaw and cheeks and forehead. All over, really.

You - Oh, there was anger somewhere in it, but too much affection and relief for it to truly burn. She mouthed the side of his neck roughly. He was here, Dusty Rose, her Dusty Rose. Reverie pulled him closer, starting to cry as the realization hit her fully.

He'd screamed her name a thousand times since they last saw one another. Dusty Rose had been getting pretty sick of it, if you really wanna know. But he'd never once thought it was in vain. One of these days, he was gonna scream her name and she was gonna scream his back. And, today, it happened just like that.

Reverie came flying toward him, gold and gleaming like he remembered. Jeee-sus was he one lucky bastard — even if her ass wasn't quite as fat as it should've been.

They'd fix that, now that they were together again.

"Me," he agreed, taking her roughly in his arms. It was a very... active kind of hug. Neither of them could stay still. They both wanted to sink teeth into one another and were kindly refraining. Until they weren't, and at some point, it stopped being a hug at all. And look: he'd been fighting for his life for months, by now. He was sick of it!

He'd never get sick of fighting with his life. Wife. Whatever.

"Where're those assholes you left with?" he asked her, panting as he attempted to wrestle to the floor. "They should come watch."

Who needs them? Her own voice was breathless. In that moment the rest of the world could have burst into flame and Reverie never would have noticed. He was home — or she was home, or both of those things, though the patch of land they stood on meant nothing.

She let him take her to the ground without much fight, too eager to have him as close as possible to bother with the details. After a few moments she gave up mouthing him and started to rub her face and neck furiously against him, as if she might meld herself to him this way. In practice she was more likely to smother him — but she trusted by now that Dusty Rose could fend for himself against her affections.

Except that Dusty Rose did not fend for himself. Or, well, he did. For a moment or two. It was hard to fight the instinct to head-butt her back (hard!) and for a while, he didn't even try. But then, he found himself flat on his back and fully smothered with love, and — bruising as it was — he couldn't think of anyplace better to be.

"Love you," he coughed, his voice muffled beneath her fluff and lungs crushed beneath her weight.

From this vantage, he did his best to return her affections, his tail whisking wildly through the dirt all the while. He gnawed on what was near enough to be gnawed and held on tight with his still-spindly forelegs. He was bleeding again — not from his scabbing wounds, but from his gums where his wife's hard skull had knocked against his muzzle with just a little too much affection. Dusty Rose loved every second of it, likewise feeling as though he'd come home after a long, long time on the road.

Try as she might, Reverie couldn't quite help herself; the moment settled from a frenzy into acceptance, relief — and, a bit bafflingly, grief. She'd hardly let herself think of Dusty Rose, much less miss him, but those feelings had never quite faded. It'd only been boxed away, stored for a later, safer date. There was no time to process feelings while survival was at stake.

Except, quite suddenly, there was. Reverie began to cry in earnest, burying her face in her husband's fur. I love you, She wept. So much. Oh - you could have been killed! The dancer clutched him more tightly.

I'll never let you out of my sight again. I'll fight a hundred cults if I have to.