Lake Rodney I call you now to tell you I'm thinking of you.

The rain continued. Champagne eyes glanced to the sky, blinking against the harsh downfall, ignoring the sting before he continued onward. There was not certain destination in mind—Ibis’ death had seen the wraith move away from the borders of Brecheliant without pause to those who remained—Maia, Ibis’ pups. A part of him had considered to demand the cubs go to his care—but the haunting of Ibis’ gaze when she denied his offer to raise them remained clear in his mind, marring the happier memories that had lured him home in the first place.

Drowning. He had nearly died of it, and yet here the shadow stood, the rain soaking him, pulling him toward the lake. A curl of a tainted lip was the only emotion readable—this was not the lake that had tried to claim him, but it might as well have been.

Eyes, then, focused in the grim downpour, noting the tall ivory form that was all too familiar. The drape of silver—the starting contrast of burgundy eyes. Red wine to pale champagne. His tongue darted over his lips, his mind registering that the man was real and not a vision—his heart untrusting of it. Bràthair, he called in the rain, reverting to the language of his father and grandfather. The common tongue held no place for him now.