Blackfeather Woods Of a dollar to earn

They had eventually made their way into the labyrinthine forest, settling in once more to old rhythms and habits. But it was empty—emptier than it had been for years. She was reminded of the time after the war, when Cicero and her brothers had departed. The days waiting for someone, for anyone, to appear.

The scents she found, the sounds she heard—she chalked them up to ghosts and memories. 

Until today.

Maegi had been following her mate at a distance and was startled to hear conversation ahead. Brow furrowing, she moved forward at a quicker clip, slipping through trees, stumbling through brush. Eventually, she entered a clearing, her bicolored gaze lighting upon her mate, who was questioning. . .

Rowan? the pale woman asked rhetorically, jaw slackening in surprise. The last she had known, he was living in the mountains. Not with her, no, just next door, he and his mother having refused the move to Diaspora—

She felt old ire rise up within her, and was disturbed at the intensity after so much time had passed. He'd been a kid, after all, beholden to his family. Now he was grown, and he had returned, and she looked him over, noting how the childish pudge had faded, how the boy she had once known had become a young man. 

You came back, Maegi marveled, and offered him the faintest of smiles. After all, she'd cared for him, once—a feeling that might yet return.