Dawnlark Plains white sun, the upswing

It was clear from the moment his words resonated with the girl that he'd stepped into a territory he hadn't expected to. The boy's bright smile gradually dripped from his face as the girl continued on, an empathetic and mellow look taking his place. Dante wasn't one to shy away from emotion, not when it came to others at least. Though he sometimes had difficulty expressing vulnerability when it came to himself, he knew how to be a shoulder, or so he believed. 

His heart clenched at the woman's soft admission, and before he knew what he was doing the boy found himself moving quickly forward to offer an embrace. Should she accept it, he would wind his neck gently under his new acquaintance's, delicate, never imposing or demanding of anything. Should it make the woman uncomfortable, the boy would politely step back, dipping his head in a quiet apology for his actions. It came almost as an instinct to the young man to offer physical comfort in the face of tragedy; Dante had been raised in a culture in which touch was shared openly, seen as something that was as neccessary to survive as air and water, something that made the individuals of the pack who they were, but he understood that not all those he would meet would share his ideals. I'm sorry, the boy would murmur softly either way, having known loss and the grief that came with it. His own chest stung slightly at the notion, the long-gone whispers of a gentle rasp ringing in his ears momentarily before he slammed the door in his mind to those thoughts. That was then and Dante...Dante was now, so. He huffed a gentle sigh; how quickly a brief meeting could become a gateway to old ghosts.