Sunset Valley zwischen

the silversmoke spoke. he answered, rote. "not lost. looking for somevone." because he did not yet know who she was, he did not give a description of the tall aloof boy, but so far their meeting had proven to be mutually agreeable.
"you do not seem lost," the gargoyle remarked. with still some space between them, the nature of her pelt was unknown. but he had caught no trace of wolves wreathing from her coat.
wylla had left him. he felt guilt prickle beneath his spine, as if speaking of nothing to this woman somehow justified the reasons for that departure. he found, suddenly, that he did not know how to refer to wylla inside his own mind, that their time together had been marked by strife, not small loving names. pain blooming as he stood warmly impassive, waiting for the stranger's answer.