Wheeling Gull Isle To the strand a picnic plan for you and me

He was missed. 

Weary and worn, even in toil and preparation - conducted with silent pride - pale wraiths danced on her peripherals. Each beckoning the glance of eager lilac, only to find shadows and trickery. He was never truly there - the brute of ice she called confidante, ally. Unbidden, her mind tiptoed to his return, oft with concealed anxiety.

The rains had passed and sunlight triumphed once more, the heat of the day thickening beneath the canopy of Longshore suffocatingly; the humidity trapped within the forests pushed her to the fringes of their Isle for reprieve as the sun approached its zenith. 

The claustrophobia of the balmy air dissipated as the nightwisp reached the Beach, slowing to a trot as she pulled deep lungfuls of replenished air into the slim cave of her chest. The girl padded amongst the dunes, following a path that was beginning to become familiar - a trail that allowed her to wander over the outermost reaches of her newfound home, searching for sign of any breach. The Landbridge was the only access point yet, the exile wanted to ascertain that none had swum ashore. 

The dark woman had only just settled into her patrol, loping along the southern shores of the island, when a pale silhouette blinked into existence on the horizon. A prickle of fear, of dread, pierced her - thinking it yet another trick of the light, to be blamed upon the curse of her half-blinded state.

Still, she hastened forwards to investigate regardless, on the off chance it was a threat. Ears pricked forward (or at least best she could manage with her ragged, ruined aud), tail raised proudly - the aspiring Lady drew near with intrigue brimming in her amethyst orb. 

Just as quickly, her bravado was lost - a beaming smile lifting her lips as her dark plume wagged with unrestrained joy and relief. 

He was home! He was safe! He was home!

"Rosencrantz," the young woman greeted softly, with a demure dip of her star-speckled crown - somehow managing to appear somewhat calm. Even so, the dark Seelie could not withhold herself completely - daring to step forward and brush her cheek against the pale hollow of his throat. 

It is fleeting, vaguely uncertain as she's not sure how he'll accept it, but it speaks the silent language that her tongue cannot: I missed you. 

"How was your trip?" Rhæ asks as she pulls back, retreating a step to meet his molten gaze with a soft smile - cheeks heating beneath her nite peltage.