Blackbeak Bluff with all these memories bittersweet

It was not judgment that laid in his gaze on her, but rather the bud of interest. When he had first laid eyes on her and that downcast frame, she had been nothing more than a fleck of gold in vivid, verdant windswept grasses; he was pulled towards her without even meaning to. A distance kept, his interest bloomed to curiosity as he deemed himself a pure nuisance, a shark deep in an otherwise stormy sea. And just how stormy that sea was, well, he may as well have been caught in the undertow thinking it was freedom.

Some distance out, he began to wonder about her when she seemed to push ahead, aware of his gaze lingering now and just as able to beat a hasty retreat to wherever. Dirge let her go, content to alter his course to mettle in the wake of hers and follow it. The sway of the tall grasses swallowed her whole just as steadily and as he tested the teasing air of the path she blazed, he wondered again.

Is it you?

Emboldened, his pursuit was less stealthy than before. It would have been easier to call out after her but he had his moments where doing things the easy way was simply not an option. He wanted to be certain, better safe than sorry, when the near breadth of a year spanned between them. He split the next wave of seaside prairies to clear a rise of jutting stone to look for her, and found nothing.

Ghosts, then.