Shadewood The future tense of fear is either comedy or tragedy

wc:212

Having been born in the security of the Moors, Chacal was not sure what Arcelia meant at first by wishing to see home. Did she mean the den? Because Chacal could take her there- but her gaze was distant, and the yearning in her eyes reflected the pallid clouds above, melding together with the seafoam green in her gaze. The ocean was there, in her eyes, but she wouldn't be able to see it. An idea struck her, though, and she bounded away from Arcelia to paw through some of her playthings- a selection of items which had been brought back from the shore for her to play with- until she found the perfect thing.

It was difficult for her to manage, as it was quite large, hard, and had some thorn-like projections, but with utmost care she picked it up, making sure to leave its opening pointing outwards. The shell was a small conch, and had a beautiful, sunset peach hue to it that was blended into the shell beige of its exteriot. She approached Arcelia, and with a small huff, waved her tail eagerly, and lifted it up- so that Arcelia could press her ear to it, and hear the hushed, but constant sound of the seashore from inside it.