Barrow Fields curled inward in the night, a curious thing, love

Almost as if hearing her, the shape turned its luminous eyes in her direction, and a moment later, shouted a name. Her name - or her old one. But it was not the word or the name she was concerned with, but the voice that spoke it.

"Poet!" the girl rejoined, her legs suddenly too clumsy to carry her; she stood stock-still as her sister-wife approached, and could only dip her head to take in the other's scent when they met. But, gradually, motion began to return to her. Her tail wagged and her ears flickered, and she stepped into her sister's comforting embrace.

"I miss you," she whispered, overjoyed to be with her once again. "Miss me?"