Wheeling Gull Isle sacrament

he wished to lead her to the field where the flowers had come from. where they would bloom once more come spring.

to a place he spent much of his time at.

there were no signs of the local herd here right now. only the open expanse with full view of the sea, flowers withering but still tall enough to brush up underneath him. touch. contact.

if they touched the same flowers he imagined that was the closest they could be.

softly, he dipped his muzzle and ran it along a batch of purple. then moved on, looking over to her. wondering if she'd be inspired to do the same.