Sawtooth Spire to endure steadfastly;

Stag turned his gaze, studying Praimfaya from one eye to the next.

She's grown. Her fur is lighter, and somehow, her gaze darker. Her body was filled out, sporting hard muscle and a series of scars down her shoulder. To Stag, she looks mature; hardened by years beyond her age. A far cry from the two babies they had been in Diaspora.

He was overcome with youthful excitement and a sense of temerity unusual for him; perhaps it was their kinship, or their similar age -- but for once, Stag did not feel so timid as just overwhelmed. "Pri?" He bit his lip, his tail falling to his side. First his mother, and now his childhood playmate? "Where have you been?"