Dragoncrest Cliffs ma fanmi

he longed for the sea, but they wouldn't let him close. not yet, anyway. the small lake near the roja den would have to suffice for now, and lafayette—recovering fast and itching for independence—stared across the dark waters despondently. the night was black, the moon a hair-thin crescent.

all he could think about was the peace that came between his head going under and his breath coming back.

just waves, slow and steady. the sound of the sea, thundering to the beat of his heart.

land-life seemed to pale in comparison.

but your family needs you, mezanmi.

lafayette spun to find a wolf that shone like stars, her pelt cinnamon and sable, ruddy and rouge. a composite of all wolves that had come and gone from these cliffs, that ran wild through his blood—though he would not know that for sure.

ma fanmi.

the sea only claims us when our time us up, lafayette, she murmured, the touch of her muzzle light as air upon his head; he would have sworn he was imagining things if the fur of his ruff hadn't stirred at her breath.

some could say it was the wind. and perhaps, if one approached now, they would see lafayette speaking to the lake, engaged in deep conversation with no one at all.