Barrow Fields castles in the sand, cradles in the trees

The palpable dip in Screech’s mood had a sobering effect on the inkdark empath. The eager thrum of her body and tail quieted, though it could not still completely; and the bright exuberance of her Neptune eyes took on a softer, more compassionate glow. She shook her head in negation as he berated himself, one paw lifting high as she shifted her slight weight to her hindquarters. Her inclination was to sling one spindly forearm over his shoulders and draw him in, but he was too tall and she was too wary to be that forward. Bashfully, she set her paw down again but scooted closer anyway. Tufted ears skimmed back upon her skull as she made to preen gently at the fur at the base of his left ear, whuffling softly as she drank in his heavy loneliness and embraced it as her own.

A tuneless, airy whine whispered timorously from her lips as she worried over him, drawing back only after one catlike paw inched forward so that her toes touched his. She didn’t want to break the physical contact, but she did want to look at him — and to have him look at her in turn. Decisively she shook her head — she certainly didn’t think it was better for him to be alone! — and wondered how to tell him that he definitely needed to come to Wheeling Gull Isle for some sorely needed R&R. She did her best, turning face and body toward the island with one forepaw tucked against the sloping curve of her rib cage and her tail and head held straight as an arrow. “My h-home,” she whispered, her voice as frail as a reluctant maybe, sweeping into a fluid arabesque. One feathered forelimb outstretched while its opposite hind arched backwards in a graceful hyperextension; she balanced there on the tiptoes of her grounded limbs for a prolonged moment.

A legato croon of her sleek musculature drew her into a more natural posture, and she looked at Screech to assess how much he’d understood of her awkward display.