Bramblepoint cranky curmudgeon

“Yeah,” Cypress answered with characteristic straightforwardness, “I mean it. I love you, too, Noch.” He turned his head when Rannoch leaned in, nosing companionably at the argent fur of his brother’s nape. For a long moment, Cypress was quiet as he digested the turquoise-eyed wolf’s suggestions. “Water would be good,” he agreed. “Water means prey.” The eidolon didn’t have a particularly strong opinion about terrain, but, “Can we go to see the ocean together?” he questioned. “You and me — and Rian, if he wants to go. I never got to see it. I’ve never been further north than the field…” “The field” referred to Scimitar and Eshe’s resting place, and to be honest, Cypress didn’t want to talk about them anymore. His feelings on the matter were still too tender. He set the rest of his sentence aside, elaborating, “We can go after we’ve settled or something; I just want to see it someday.”

Lean, angular shoulders shifted in a shrug. “As long as you and Rian are there, the place isn’t important,” the raven said, tacking on a bit hastily: “and as long as there are less thorns than here.”