Stavanger Bay losing feeling's getting old

dalia folded herself neatly nearby; velen watched her, somewhat entranced until she began to speak. and then he was enchanted in a new way: she spoke a language he had not heard before, save for perhaps a snippet here and there. drageda — the place to which dalia could never return. her fondness for her mother was something the boy knew well, and there welled in his heart a fierce longing for deidre, and even the gruff coldness of skellige.
but he was here now, in the bay, and it was not so bad. especially not tonight, with the seaflower beside him describing hougeda. velen could see it: moonlight trickling through the cavern walls and dalia gathered with her family. a smile lit his muzzle. his clan was altogether different; the boy could not remember ever having voluntarily cuddled with his littermates unless it was out of necessity.
was there a wistfulness in her voice? he wondered at the prospect of it, gaze following her own toward the stack of tree-nuts in the corner. a true glint to his eye now, for the sight of them reminded him of their first meeting with saucy and how they had all played like ribald children for hours.
"that sounds nice," velen murmured after a heartbeat, before clearing his throat and crossing his forepaws. "uh, if you get ... um ... cold, you could ... like ..." marvelous. you're doing great, sport. "you could come curl up over here. i don't mind. if you want," velen added quickly; this was dalia's space, after all, and maybe she didn't need to be close, just needed his presence to stave off more nightmares, which he was more than pleased to do.