Cerulean Cape A spoonful of tar

Friend. It felt good to be called one, even though he knew that it was merely out of courtesy. She spoke slowly and softly, the words clear enough for him to understand.

I am Daniil.

He was the first to break eye contact, looking towards the island. He thought that everyone he had met here had such intense eyes.

Will they... take me? He asked, uncertain of what exactly he meant. A stranger?

A smile crossed his face, fleeting and almost boyish despite his age. It crinkled his nose. He noticed how the fur on her head and back was a vulpine russet, as if she'd been making snow angels in red clay. Beyond the two wolves, the sun played bright over the ocean's waves where the light split apart and shimmered in glowing bokeh. It hit him then that the word Sweetharbor was in fact made of two words: sweet, and another he hadn't heard before. The knowledge of the first syllable emboldened him; he knew what sweetness was, and remembered it in his mouth.