Moonstone Quarry after the snow

She had looked for him. Looked for the others who had seemed to disappear without a trace.

Scoured all that she could reach, yet always came up short. Her days had grown darker despite the sun greeting what was left of the pack each morning; the vibrancy of her world faded with each unsuccessful attempt at seeking out those who have gone. Dancing became something of the past, her body unable to muster a single step.

Fleur was lost, again.

She had begun to lose hope that he would return to them. To her. So when the scent of Solharr crossed her path, she shook her head, ignoring it. It was a figment of her imagination, much as it had been many times before. The female moved on, head low, feeling the weight of her loss like she was buried under stone, forced to walk with it.

There it was again. This time, it was stronger. Earthier. She paused her steps, unsure if she should let her dwindling hope carry her once more, or let the scent drift on the wind. She was afraid. Afraid to be disappointed. Afraid that for all that she had confessed to him, it would be nothing more than a dream.

A nightmare.

But, what if it weren’t? What if—

She ran. Fleur had promised him it would never end—this dream—she would bleed and burn. It was her vow and she would not break it. No matter how much she had felt broken.

Reaching a high rise overlooking the entrance of their sacred land, she skidded to a halt to look over its edge, searching. Her eyes registered Ezra and Anoana, fleeting glances before her gaze was pulled away to find her heart standing before the others.

Her gasp echoed; her surprise filled the quarry. But, she did not bound down the rocks to meet him, nor did she utter a single word in greeting. She wanted to be angry with him. Part of her was, she supposed, but what truly filled her now was a burning, a longing to reach for him. The shock of seeing him in the flesh, and not as an apparition or in her dreams as she slept, kept her in place.