Wheeling Gull Isle the songcord

theyre SO CUTE

caracal spoke, and she saw the earnestness upon his face. he had never wavered in his devotion to sweetharbor, not since he had called it home.
heda was not sure if god wound a light into the motes of his spirit, as it was for her. but he was goodness, he was goodness and a constant, like the hymns bartholomew had taught her.
heda stiffened in surprise when he touched her, though it was not to recoil nor to draw away. it was a marvel, the warmth of caracal's paw and the way he combed through her salt-laced tresses.
strong feelings. an adventure.
heda searched herself for something that came close. affection. a gentle camaraderie. she wondered when he had decided he felt these things for her. 
the saltwolf had never thought of romance as a tangible thing; she loved bartholomew but there was no true understanding. not yet.
hesitantly she put out her own paw toward him, trailing it along one of his wrists.
"i will be here when you come back, caracal." her smile wavered only a little, in shyness, in unsurety. but her eyes were resolute, enchanted.