Dragoncrest Cliffs near-sighted

There was no return call. No figure coming over the horizon. Jean-Heron’s own howls could not carry far and he was too embarrassed to use them regardless. He watched as his father’s pace become slower and slower over the last few miles, until it was no more than an uncertain trot. The older male seemed to realize something that didn’t occur to his young son.

They saw her elegantly rested figure first. Then her scent carried over the saltwind.

Maman! Jean-Heron croaked shrilly, as loud as his voice allowed. He barged past Svalinn, who for once fell behind, and made a three-legged sprint for his mother. Maman! Maman! He made no effort to keep from crashing into her, unaware of how much he had grown since the last time they had collided.

His half-moon face buried into her goldfringed bosom and wept to be there again.