Moonstone Quarry And I pray that I'll make it before the night's up

Dreams never truly make sense, do they? There are always more questions than answers. 

But, the strangest thing? When she washed ashore here, there were broken pieces of wood circling her, scattered amongst the rocks. All shattered. Some darkened as if burned. A crate closed shut, somehow surviving the tumbling through waves onto shore. 

Had it truly been just a dream? Or, was it a memory making an attempt to return? She couldn't be sure.

What she was sure of? Him. 

He spoke of warnings; his lingering question in the air between them. How could he not see that, dream or memory be damned, she wanted him here? 

Yet, she felt unsure if it were something he wanted. Kind, steadfast, man of stone and fire. A man who gave without taking. She didn't want to take what he was unwilling to give. It would be unkind, almost cruel. And she was neither.

It was up to him to decide. She would let him go if that is what he chose.

She couldn't be selfish.

I only want what you decide. Your-- she paused to yawn, lowering her head to rest on her paws, her gaze drifting from his eye to the familiar spot on his chest, --presence will always be welcome here.