Luneshale Pass Fingers Tearing Through the Ground

The dog's muddied ears twitched, sensing the soft footfalls before his mind fully registered their approach. His jaws clenched around the stick, lips curling into a snarl as he spun to meet the intruder, kicking up a cloud of dust that billowed in the air around him. Opalescent eyes narrowed, struggling to pierce the swirling haze. The fur along his ruff bristled, every instinct on high alert—until he saw her.

Legend? His voice cracked, barely a whisper, as the stick slipped from his grasp and clattered against the earth.

Without thinking, he rushed forward. Relief and disbelief crashed through him in waves. She was here. And gods above all he wanted was to gather her in his arms, to feel her solid and real against him. His heart raced, and for a fleeting moment, he believed he could close the distance and never let go.

But he stopped.

He had been imprisoned for attacking her.
She had not come to see him once in those many long months while he rotted in that cell—she hadn't even sent word for him.
His room, destroyed upon his release.

His momentum faltered, paws stumbling as he took a hesitant step back. His ears drooped, mirroring the jackdaw's own as doubt wormed its way through him. Was he allowed to embrace her anymore? Was his presence wanted?




Did she hate him?