Dawnlark Plains the theory of everything

around this time of year, rannveig usually felt a drive compell him to wander. it was not the same urge as the restlessness that told his bones to move -- it was something a bit more mindless. he understood it only as a temporary mood, precocious as it was, that often instructed him to cover many miles in short periods of time, and to actively seek companionship that was not of his own blood.

ironic then, that he searched for mona -- the little cardinal had rested comfortably in his thoughts, so that on cold nights when he curled up alone, he would warm himself with thoughts of her fiery pelt leaning against him, or her murkwater eyes holding his own gaze. while the wind wrapped its cold fingers around his den, he wrapped his thoughts around mona -- so that when the time came, he would know to find her.

it was her voice that brought him to her, shipwrecking him to her cove as if she were some fire-hued siren -- without speech he passed through bare trees until he held her form in his gaze, and then he froze in disbelief that in all of these miles of wildnerness, they were reunited.