Silvertip Mountain i like your eyes wide

Heat spread through him again, wild and untamed and hopelessly electrifying; he closed his eyes, a muted purl falling from his lips as he pushed his muzzle gently against the slender hollow of Phocion's throat. He moved only when his friend made his request, turning slightly without breaking the embrace so that he might speak. If only the words would come to him, he thought. A brief silence fell.
I will... tell you my favorite, then. Cortland decided softly, self-conscious. The moonlit priest told stories with an eloquence and passion he feared he could not match— but he would try, as he recounted this tale, to do it some justice. Another pause, as he found the words to begin; In some places, the veil separating our world from the world of the spirits is thin. Fragile. Some say terrible things have happened in these places— or great things; some call it chance.
There are many stories about these places, but my favorite is of Zoran. A bastard, abandoned to the sea by his jaded mother; it's told he was saved by a spirit, some long-drowned soul bound to the ocean. Again, he lost himself to the story that had enchanted him so long ago. It felt strangely like being home. The spirit raised him for a time, and grew to love him, but it could not be that way forever— he began to wither, slowly becoming a spirit himself. So, the night of a vicious storm, his savior cast him out— drove him from the shores that had become home. And he was lost, for a time.
The boy paused, realizing with some excitement that he was coming to his favorite part of the tale. Zoran wandered, searching for his home— broken, bitter; for years, he was alone in the world. The child became a man, a druid of great magick and wisdom, drawn always to the ocean. After some time, he found love— bore children. He carried his emptiness with him always. The sunset Mayfair's tail twitched— so close! He was old when he found his home again; the same as he remembered, but different. The druid found no trace of his savior. For many moons, he returned each night— and found nothing.
Finally, his anguish became too great. He lowered his voice now, softly leading to the tale's conclusion. One clear, moonless night, Zoran cast himself into the waves, perhaps hoping his savior would appear once more. From the sea's embrace, he did not return; none can say if he found his beloved spirit again.