Chimera Fields a crime so old as the sky and bone

That was a beautiful post, Chan. ♥
I’m rushing this one before work, so I apologize for the cruddy quality!

In his own way, Cypress too had begun to heal.

The tattered raven’s transformation was not as profound as his littermate’s; he was still very much a specter, given to skulking around the outskirts of the forest he no longer felt welcome in. Much of his time was spent in the Eastmire, where Ondine had bested him despite his best efforts, but he had begun to emerge from his self-imposed isolation and socialize with his cousins — unenthusiastically at first, but now with a distant sense of pleasure and comfort. He wasn’t in the habit of visiting the field where his parents had been found several hours after their last moments, but that’s where he went today.

The expression on Cypress’ face was grim as he traipsed the all-too-familiar territory; it upset him that he couldn’t remember where they’d lain. His broad paws felt rooted to the spot, but when a low, sonorous cry struck the air in tones that could not be real, they snapped into motion. His body worked independently of his mind as he moved toward the call, for all the cogs and wheels in his brain had ground to a jarring halt at Rannoch’s voice. Dumbfounded, he broke through the bracken to regard the wolf he’d never thought he’d see again, turquoise eyes and all. Tall, sharp ears set high and close together pushed forward upon Cypress’ skull as he marked the differences between them the way he’d always done: his shoulders and hips, though not jutting quite so prominently from beneath his wild, unkempt pelage, were still a stark contrast to Rannoch’s thick, corded musculature; Rannoch was broader, but they were of similar height now.

“Noch? Noch, I’m sorry — please don’t leave me this time — I do love you, Noch, I do — ”

His tongue felt thick and wooden in his scarred mouth as he regarded the wolf he had so much to say to, and he found that none of those words were enough. “Noch,” he said in a quiet baritenor several shades deeper and darker than his childhood trill, a weird sense of calm overriding the wild tumult and endless ache that drummed within his breast. “You came back.” Beneath the almost robotic way he spoke the words, a stirring of hope churned; it warmed each syllable from within, melting away the metallic sheen, and although his tail did not wag and his lips did not curve into a smile, something about the cracked and rusted gargoyle seemed to soften.