Northstar Vale Ima be a love you 'til the day I die kinda man

Ripped apart in front of me.

He spoke it—but not with the emotion that she would have expected from such a statement. Her muzzle drew upward, nose grazing his chin, his cheek, pressing closer in an attempt to draw him to her. “What makes you happy, Reyson?” Because wasn’t that the point?

Wasn’t that the true determination here, between them?

Of course she wished for certain answers, but she did not expect them. Not when everything was so new. But wasn’t this moving forward, in some way?

“Have you healed?” Was such a thing even possible to heal from?