Wapun Meadow Watching as I comb through the pieces on the beach

Boone did little more than watch, at first; marvel at the childlike glee of his companion as she lopes in front of him. The blooms seem to buzz with life, this field, and a flickering image of home is brought into his mind. Honeysuckles and the flutter of dragonflies, the shimmer of late summer where the leaves just begin to rust.
And he looks down, looks at Reverie just in time to meet her eyes. She was just a girl, once, and he just a boy; and the smile creeps onto his face, squeezing his cheeks before he lumbers into his own bow beside her.
When was the last time he let himself do this? His laughter harmonizes with hers, a stream of loose movements and clumsy footing, goading and teasing and urging for her to chase him! Not that he was much faster than her, anyway. Friends, lovers, whatever they were; caution to the wind, two wild-footed idiots, and when he catches the dimples that crease her cheeks and the petals that course the fibers of her hair, something inside him swells and sings.
But in the midst of it, something breaks his attention. A voice, and then a figure, still in the shadows; no, it wasn't a Kvarsheim wolf, was it?