Totoka River cherry soul

The bard— lonely and keening— milled along the wind-combed coastline with a cottony blankness to his thoughts. Part of him wished to slink back to Elysium, as they housed the only friendly faces he could recognize, and returning his homeland was simply out of the question. But a restlessness had overcome him; a need to scour the bitter sea strand; and he could not identify its source.  

Somewhere deep in his heart, Teleklos knew Eurycrates was dead.

But it was not in him to accept such a thing. Hope would remain alive until the day he saw his brother's corpse, and so he would hope forever, no matter how slim the chance.

His attempt to chase away the nightmarish consideration that he may never find his beloved was met with the ambrosia of company. He would have rather been left to obsess up and down the seaboard for all eternity, but he became distracted and drawn after the scent, passing the instinctive motions off as mere loneliness. Just as the thrum of the river was coming to its apex, he spotted the ruddy figure of a wiry she-wolf, and he wagged his tail timidly while awaiting her reaction to his presence.