Gyrfalcon's Keep Allora, pedala!

Santo cielo! For someone younger than me! he exclaimed. And you talk about the ocean like a woman. A small part of him envied the traveler and his freedom. He tended to freeze up when faced with too many choices, fixed into place with a dumb thousand-yard stare.

No, no, he laughed, though the noise was somewhat forced. I only left my natal pack because I was forced to. A very long story.

Pier straightened himself out for his mantra: I am not as adventurous as you. I want to settle down, have a family.

Was this true? How many times had he repeated this to himself, clinging onto it like a garish buoy in an ocean? He believed himself out of habit. It was a prayer ingrained so deeply it had lost any meaning a long time ago - a certain phonetic sequence.

But for now, who knows what's ahead of me? His voice came out pitched high, because the question felt just as ridiculous as he had thought it would feel.