Dawnlark Plains kwana-ci

Her name in his mouth again— it sparks a feeling, sharp and eager. He is smiling, inviting her to laugh, as if they were just two mischievous children again. She sails, feigning a nip to Coväh’s flank then skittering off; returning to spring nights when she’d slip away from Ashēer to play with the boy from across the creek.
Her breaths come fast, melding with laughter but tears are standing in her eyes when she slows to study him.  Three years, he would have been. His gaze looks older. His fur is disordered, a scar claims his cheekbone, but it is him. Her same Coväh.
“Sky boy,” she summons a wavering voice at last, “I thought— I feared—”
Cheeks flowing then, she steps slowly into the space of his arms to see closer, to take in his scent.
“How?”