The Bracken Woods we were diamonds, now we’re dust

He didn’t speak. For an instant, Masquerade wondered if he’d adapted the rise’s monk-like tendencies in her absence. That would be preferable to the silent treatment, though she wasn’t left to wonder or worry for long. She found herself being embraced.

Quickly, she pressed into it. She whined and tucked her muzzle into his nape, feeling a jolt of dismay when her belly prevented her from getting as close as she wanted. For several minutes, she clung to him, struck speechless by her immense and grateful relief.

Mul… she murmured when she finally pushed apart and stepped back, albeit with one forepaw still grasping at his shoulder. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.

She wanted to mention his promotion but she found herself too choked up to say anything else right away. Masque took some steadying breaths, shining eyes never leaving his face. He looked a little older and wiser than she’d left him.

I hear you’re a leader now, just like we always talked about, she managed after a moment, deep voice throaty. Berserkr… leader of the fight.

She was proud, though the feeling came with a bittersweet edge. She’d gone away and found out she didn’t belong with the rise. In the meantime, Mulherin had found his place solidly among their ranks. It made Masquerade incredibly happy and profoundly sad all at once.