Bitterroot Valley feels like we only go backwards

Zamael had a lot of love in his heart, but he tucked it away, giving it only to those who he thought deserved it most. There had once been two, but then his father had killed Carvel. Now that number was down to one, and the one was standing in front of him, crying. Alarian's words smacked him across the face, made his breath catch suddenly in his throat, but he soldiered on, coming a bit closer.

"I don't want to leave you alone," he said, his normally impassive facade crumbling as it only did for his brother. "I missed you. I love you." He drew even closer still, 'til he could feel the heat from Alarian's body. He reached forward to press his muzzle against Alarian's cheek, unless he drew away--in which case, he'd kiss the empty air. But he was close.

"I'm real," Zamael whispered, fiery eyes trying to find his brother's gaze, which stayed hidden from him. He knew how fragile his brother sometimes could be, how pieces needed to be picked up once in a while, lying here or there. He also knew that his brother was strong, stronger than most he'd met, and it was with the knowledge of that strength, that resilience, that he came closer, rather than fleeing.

Because he, too, had that resilience. That stubbornness.