Sunset Valley seltsam

Broken. A fallen creature—a soul lost. She could have placed such words upon each of them—the survivors of Diaspora. Scattered like ash to the wind now, a reiteration of such brought to the man’s lips when he spoke of his current claim.

A light frown washed over the delicate features of the lissome woman—glittering eyes sharp upon him as she took in the ragged man she knew so well and yet so very little. “I don’t seek Diaspora,” she answered simply, the lash of her tail given, her gaze avoiding the looming peaks of the mountain and the ghost of a buried love.

There was something haunting within his expression at his words—it pulled her to close more distance between them, the warmth that radiated from his hardened body stirring a shiver from the honey and ivory she-wolf—she had missed him, though could not openly express it. Had it been a mistake to leave? Her children thrived—and yet Mahler’s role within their lives had been left without the praise it deserved.

“Come,” was the croon she gave, wrapping herself to him in the embrace of a hug and familiarization—as if she could somehow warm the frigidness within his very stance. What had happened in her absence?