Words are spaces between us.

Scimitar accepted her fond, sympathetic feature by allowing her to sink against him, her muzzle thrust among the butterscotch of her neck as she squeezed her copper wires sit in attempt to reign in her emotions. His muzzle lowered and Paarthurnax felt her companion's chin prop atop her narrow shoulders, followed by the sweep of a strong forelimb that reached out to grip her back in a wolfish hug.

He spoke again, his voice heavy with emotion, though her heart did do a happy little leap within her breast to know that Bazi's location was not a mystery, and that her intention was to return. But Paarthurnax remained snug against him as she racked her mind in search of the right words. What could she say to make things better?

"She'll come back to you," the crimson Frostfur assured the broken male, nuzzling deeper against his throat. "But I am sorry all the same, for what you're feeling."

It was then that she stepped back, and lifted her crown to seek the aqua of Scimitar's gaze. She understood that Bazi was undoubtedly overwhelmed by all that had gone on during her leadership, but found it incredibly unfair of her to drop the entirety of it on the shoulders of her partner.