Tagging for reference. Message me to change anything. ♥
My apologies for Cypress’ copious adolescent angst. Preferably not open to someone who would scoop him up and take him home.
My apologies for Cypress’ copious adolescent angst. Preferably not open to someone who would scoop him up and take him home.
Within the raven’s chest gnawed an ache that would not quiet; he could not feed or subdue it, and it festered there like a glowing ember in a wooden sepulcher, eating away at the rafters that housed it. One by one, they had left him behind — @Lucy first, then @Rannoch, and finally @Scimitar. Logic told the young wolf that each of them had had good reason to go. Lucy could not allow herself to be taken by a stranger again; Rannoch had been nearly mad with worry at Lucy’s departure; and Scimitar had carried the weight of losing his son and adopted foundling in one fell swoop. Of course Scimitar needed to search for them — he was alpha. That he’d taken @October, too, was adding insult to injury — the forest seemed empty to Cypress, who had never really been close with his cousins, aunt, or uncle. Even @Allure and @Pasha had been swept up in the search, leaving Cypress to remain with Eshe lest the Frostfur matriarch completely fall to pieces in the wake of her illness and this tragedy.
Cypress had known where Lucy would go; he had also known that Rannoch would inevitably follow. He was not surprised by the turn of events and could not have coherently explained why they troubled him to such a degree. In a striking contrast to the robustness of health Rannoch had always enjoyed, Cypress had come down with the same illness Eshe had contracted — and though it had proven useful at first, keeping her attention drawn from the fleeing pair, now he found the way she clung to him suffocating. She was distracted and emotional by turns, doing her best to hold her composure and show a brave face — but Cypress was blessed, or perhaps cursed, by a wisdom beyond his years. He had no illusions about the magnitude of her hurt. Rannoch and Cypress had been her miracle children — the Boys Who Lived. “You were supposed to wait for me,” he said now, quietly and tonelessly, practicing the words to himself so that when he flung them at his grayscale brother they would be crisp and clear. “You were supposed to wait for me — we were supposed to find her together.”
The illness had left his throat parched and hoarse, his lips cracked, and his lean sides slightly leaner. Both eyes felt painful and dry; they had emitted a milky discharge, but this seemed to have dissipated. Now, as though the blue itself had melted from his sulphureous globes, his eyes were a bright and eerie yellow in a mask of indelible black. With the growth of his winter undercoat had come wisps of smoke and ash, and the fur along his nape and shoulders was wilder than ever. He shook out his fur, stretching his long legs — still gangly, but no longer ungainly — as he left the familiarity of the forest behind and struck out for the glen where he, Lucy, Rannoch, and his cousins had romped and played. It was fortunate that he was departing several days too late to hear his brother’s betrayal spoken aloud — “you know, we can do that without Cypress,” — for his pride was bent just enough to allow forgiveness to straighten it again. “I’m sorry, mama,” he whispered as his fleet paws left the moonlit borders far behind him. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself leading Rannoch and Lucy home to Neverwinter, never again to be assaulted by the foul creature who had arrived from far away to whisk their princess to another castle. Eshe would forgive him — she always forgave him. He was going to be a hero.
The fireflies were aglow as they had been before, but joy was loathe to stir in the heartsick boy’s breast. He merely stood, his face a stoic mask, wild fur whipping about as a cool autumn breeze licked intrusively against his skin. “Lucy?” he asked uncertainly into the darkness. “You were supposed to wait for me, Rannoch. We were supposed to find her together.”
Cypress had known where Lucy would go; he had also known that Rannoch would inevitably follow. He was not surprised by the turn of events and could not have coherently explained why they troubled him to such a degree. In a striking contrast to the robustness of health Rannoch had always enjoyed, Cypress had come down with the same illness Eshe had contracted — and though it had proven useful at first, keeping her attention drawn from the fleeing pair, now he found the way she clung to him suffocating. She was distracted and emotional by turns, doing her best to hold her composure and show a brave face — but Cypress was blessed, or perhaps cursed, by a wisdom beyond his years. He had no illusions about the magnitude of her hurt. Rannoch and Cypress had been her miracle children — the Boys Who Lived. “You were supposed to wait for me,” he said now, quietly and tonelessly, practicing the words to himself so that when he flung them at his grayscale brother they would be crisp and clear. “You were supposed to wait for me — we were supposed to find her together.”
The illness had left his throat parched and hoarse, his lips cracked, and his lean sides slightly leaner. Both eyes felt painful and dry; they had emitted a milky discharge, but this seemed to have dissipated. Now, as though the blue itself had melted from his sulphureous globes, his eyes were a bright and eerie yellow in a mask of indelible black. With the growth of his winter undercoat had come wisps of smoke and ash, and the fur along his nape and shoulders was wilder than ever. He shook out his fur, stretching his long legs — still gangly, but no longer ungainly — as he left the familiarity of the forest behind and struck out for the glen where he, Lucy, Rannoch, and his cousins had romped and played. It was fortunate that he was departing several days too late to hear his brother’s betrayal spoken aloud — “you know, we can do that without Cypress,” — for his pride was bent just enough to allow forgiveness to straighten it again. “I’m sorry, mama,” he whispered as his fleet paws left the moonlit borders far behind him. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself leading Rannoch and Lucy home to Neverwinter, never again to be assaulted by the foul creature who had arrived from far away to whisk their princess to another castle. Eshe would forgive him — she always forgave him. He was going to be a hero.
The fireflies were aglow as they had been before, but joy was loathe to stir in the heartsick boy’s breast. He merely stood, his face a stoic mask, wild fur whipping about as a cool autumn breeze licked intrusively against his skin. “Lucy?” he asked uncertainly into the darkness. “You were supposed to wait for me, Rannoch. We were supposed to find her together.”
i hope you don't mind me and cesario~ :0
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cesario's path took him north west. further into the bowels of the teekon wilds. or that was what he thought the natives called this place. teekon. how ...quaint. the name of the place mattered little to him. they all blurred together, disappointment after disappointment. there'd never been doubt that craven (for cesario did not know the name of his love's possessive alpha) would take her as far away as he needed. the length he had traveled had been long, no doubt his precious tempest moors so easily commandeered from the old, frail man that had headed the pack originally was left in shambles. loathe as he was to abandon his throne he knew he would never sit idle. they'd been caught and juno had promised she would come to him when she could escape yet she had never came. thundering into their illuminated cave had been too easy. left vulnerable by their own alpha's desertion with his juno had left them exposed and confused. like a herd of bleating sheep without their shepherd. he should have conquered them. it would have been so easy but all he cared about was juno. and the children she was no doubt carrying. his children. it had been necessary. he hunted them. his leads were slim, stuttered by terrified fools but it was all he had and something like desperation stole over him. made him relentless. his desire to be reunited with his juno was a raging inferno within him. he would find her and he would kill the man who had stolen her from him, and when she was free he would reclaim his tempest moor with her at his side.
no doubt she had given birth by now. time was a thing lost to cesario. he did not keep track of the moon's cycles. the exact time that he eclipsed went unknown to him. his focus was so very singular. they had conceived in spring and it was fall now...his children were old enough. would craven have settled her? forced her to a pack to ensure the life of her children? no doubt what he held over her to threaten her into submission was a great and terrible thing to keep his resourceful love from defying him and finding her way to him. before juno there was only the lure of a woman's body in heat, begging for him to claim them and conceive. to pass on his genetics. it'd taken a ruthless sort of women to capture his full and irrevocable attention. juno consumed him. burned him from the inside out. he thought about her every waking second, her and his unknown children. did they look like him? or like her? or were they a perfect struck balance of him and her? it was torture but it kept cesario going.
the glen the titan had wandered into was alive and aglow with fireflies as they fluttered around him. he was not a beast to notice the serenity of such a place but there was something that calmed his rage long enough to think that juno would like it here. perhaps when he found her and liberated her and their children he would bring them here so they might stand shoulder to shoulder and watch their children romp and play. this desire was a strange one to the butcher who had never wanted anything of the sort. a small voice, belonging to a child, a young boy, no doubt, calling out a name lucy caught the titan's sharp attention and for a beat he swore his heart stopped in his chest. he sought it without hesitation, stopping when the boy's dark form came into view. he was dark coated, a stoic look upon his face. this child could have been his son. he did not ask if he was looking for someone, that was obvious enough and cesario wasn't about to insult the boy's intelligence by voicing it. “who is lucy?” he inquired, deep voice gravelly from lack of use, but rumbling. cesario asked it as softly as he could not wanting to startle to chase off the stoic child. patiently, the titan waited, lingering back with plenty of distance between them as he watched the boy carefully, unsure how his presence and question would be received.
[/td][/tr][/table]no doubt she had given birth by now. time was a thing lost to cesario. he did not keep track of the moon's cycles. the exact time that he eclipsed went unknown to him. his focus was so very singular. they had conceived in spring and it was fall now...his children were old enough. would craven have settled her? forced her to a pack to ensure the life of her children? no doubt what he held over her to threaten her into submission was a great and terrible thing to keep his resourceful love from defying him and finding her way to him. before juno there was only the lure of a woman's body in heat, begging for him to claim them and conceive. to pass on his genetics. it'd taken a ruthless sort of women to capture his full and irrevocable attention. juno consumed him. burned him from the inside out. he thought about her every waking second, her and his unknown children. did they look like him? or like her? or were they a perfect struck balance of him and her? it was torture but it kept cesario going.
the glen the titan had wandered into was alive and aglow with fireflies as they fluttered around him. he was not a beast to notice the serenity of such a place but there was something that calmed his rage long enough to think that juno would like it here. perhaps when he found her and liberated her and their children he would bring them here so they might stand shoulder to shoulder and watch their children romp and play. this desire was a strange one to the butcher who had never wanted anything of the sort. a small voice, belonging to a child, a young boy, no doubt, calling out a name lucy caught the titan's sharp attention and for a beat he swore his heart stopped in his chest. he sought it without hesitation, stopping when the boy's dark form came into view. he was dark coated, a stoic look upon his face. this child could have been his son. he did not ask if he was looking for someone, that was obvious enough and cesario wasn't about to insult the boy's intelligence by voicing it. “who is lucy?” he inquired, deep voice gravelly from lack of use, but rumbling. cesario asked it as softly as he could not wanting to startle to chase off the stoic child. patiently, the titan waited, lingering back with plenty of distance between them as he watched the boy carefully, unsure how his presence and question would be received.
October 08, 2016, 05:24 PM
Hello! ^^ I apologize for defiant Cypress.
A subtle shift in the atmosphere gripped Cypress’ swiveling ears, twitching nose, and shifting body, forcing upon him an unnatural paralysis; only the frantic flickering of his lantern-yellow eyes betrayed the sudden, unsettling awareness that he was not alone. At first, the notion was comforting — who could it be but Lucy? — but when his gangly limbs finally unlocked themselves degree by painstaking degree, he turned to face a wolf of gargantuan proportions, as dark as Lucy and Cypress himself, with feverish sumac eyes that hinted at an intensity the boy did not understand. Untested in battle, still the Frostfur boy was unafraid, and he drew himself to his full height, wild hackles jutting out like a haphazard collection of gaping crow beaks that spiked his nape and shoulders. “Nobody,” he lied with a measure of defiance, unwilling to give his greatest secret away to a complete stranger. “Who are you?” Cypress’ voice, lighter and less resonant than the stranger’s, bore a guttural quality as he licked at his lips and curled them in a warning snarl.
Perhaps in her own way Lucy had become Cypress’ Juno — the quintessential goddess on a pedestal; the hearth against whom every other source of light and warmth would be found wan and frail — and his disappointment at being met by a creature he found lesser simply by default cast his starless features in a deep furrow. “Sorry,” he muttered begrudgingly, still enough of a gentleman to apologize when he recognized his own rudeness. Though he would speak no more of his princess, his wing-clipped blackbird, he owed it to his Southern belle mother and his regal father to treat the wolves he met with politeness. “I can’t answer that question,” he answered simply, with a measure of his father’s calm stoicism. He wanted to drive the strange wolf out, knowing that Lucy’s frayed nerves might snap at the sight of another hulking dark wolf with ruddy eyes, but he knew his limitations and merely held his ground. “A good wolf listens as much as he speaks,” he remembered, “and a smart wolf listens more.” He would listen, and he would learn.
Perhaps in her own way Lucy had become Cypress’ Juno — the quintessential goddess on a pedestal; the hearth against whom every other source of light and warmth would be found wan and frail — and his disappointment at being met by a creature he found lesser simply by default cast his starless features in a deep furrow. “Sorry,” he muttered begrudgingly, still enough of a gentleman to apologize when he recognized his own rudeness. Though he would speak no more of his princess, his wing-clipped blackbird, he owed it to his Southern belle mother and his regal father to treat the wolves he met with politeness. “I can’t answer that question,” he answered simply, with a measure of his father’s calm stoicism. He wanted to drive the strange wolf out, knowing that Lucy’s frayed nerves might snap at the sight of another hulking dark wolf with ruddy eyes, but he knew his limitations and merely held his ground. “A good wolf listens as much as he speaks,” he remembered, “and a smart wolf listens more.” He would listen, and he would learn.
October 09, 2016, 06:51 AM
it's perfectly alright, haha! c:
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the show the boy made, of drawing himself up to his full height was ...amusing to the ink titan but that was all he saw it as: amusing. a young boy, probably three or four months if cesario had assumed it correctly wasn't much of a threat, admittedly. in fact, cesario doubted he could even truly survive out here on his own. but the kid had balls. perhaps a reckless sort of courage but it stayed what would typically elicit an aggressive response from the titan. the authoritarian was the one in charge. and would his companion had been anything but a child he would have pressed forward with unbridled aggression. the answer of “nobody” brought a slight snort to the titan's nose. clearly lucy wasn't nobody. “what is this? the odyssey? am i to be polyphemus then and you the brave odysseus?” the titan inquired. the stories from the lips of the faithful. not he, though. though his name came from a story his mother had liked to call twelfth night he did not share in the late storyteller's fantasies. especially not of the tales of gods and goddesses and that she was their oracle and he was a creation of union between her and the god of war. the one she'd called ares. it was as far from logical as it got. yet, despite his best efforts cesario retained many of her tales as if she'd burned them into his mind with her supposed witchcraft.
whether the boy would know of the myth he spoke or not was inconsequential as the titan had not truly expected an answer. in ways it had been strictly rhetorical. “i am called cesario,” he responded complacent. “and you? what do they call you?” he returned, figuring that it was only fair that he get a name for the demand of his own. the apology that came moments later both further amused and inexplicably left the titan disappointed. no child of his would ever apologize. it was not in his nature, and not in his juno's nature either. her natal pack might have painted him as a devil (and perhaps they were right) but juno was no patron saint. she might have tempered him, showed him reason, perhaps she was softer but she was his match. and they truly weren't so different.
“that is fair,” the titan allowed with a shallow nod of his head. “well, i'm looking for someone. several someones, actually,” cesario informed the boy, eyes touching upon the boy. perhaps he took these trips often and perhaps juno had found her way here. the hope was slim, of course, but he had vowed to never stop looking until he found her. “i'm looking for a woman. her name is juno, very beautiful. she'd have given birth by now, she would probably have children with her about your age, maybe older. and they may or may not be accompanied by a male. seen anyone like that? or heard the name, maybe?” cesario wasn't overly hopeful but he would never find out if he didn't make the inquiries.
[/td][/tr][/table]whether the boy would know of the myth he spoke or not was inconsequential as the titan had not truly expected an answer. in ways it had been strictly rhetorical. “i am called cesario,” he responded complacent. “and you? what do they call you?” he returned, figuring that it was only fair that he get a name for the demand of his own. the apology that came moments later both further amused and inexplicably left the titan disappointed. no child of his would ever apologize. it was not in his nature, and not in his juno's nature either. her natal pack might have painted him as a devil (and perhaps they were right) but juno was no patron saint. she might have tempered him, showed him reason, perhaps she was softer but she was his match. and they truly weren't so different.
“that is fair,” the titan allowed with a shallow nod of his head. “well, i'm looking for someone. several someones, actually,” cesario informed the boy, eyes touching upon the boy. perhaps he took these trips often and perhaps juno had found her way here. the hope was slim, of course, but he had vowed to never stop looking until he found her. “i'm looking for a woman. her name is juno, very beautiful. she'd have given birth by now, she would probably have children with her about your age, maybe older. and they may or may not be accompanied by a male. seen anyone like that? or heard the name, maybe?” cesario wasn't overly hopeful but he would never find out if he didn't make the inquiries.
This is short and lame. ;-; I am sorry.
The hulking titan made references that Cypress was helpless to comprehend, but he had the good sense to wait for his previous question to be answered before forging ahead with another. “Cypress Benvolio Frostfur,” he stated simply, regarding the autumn-eyed stranger with burgeoning interest that was just beginning to outweigh his disappointment. He listened attentively as the male — Cesario, he reminded himself — gave voice to his own missing persons ads. “The only other cubs I know are my brother and my cousins,” he lied, leaving Lucy out of the equation, “but my brother is missing, too. He’s — ” Lacking the word “agouti”, Cypress shrugged his thin shoulders. “He looks like a regular wolf with mostly gray fur and blue eyes. Not really blue, but blue in a green way. Taller than me.” The words tasted of ash. “And bigger. But not as fast as me. What does Juno look like?” If Cesario wanted beautiful, he need only look as far as Eshe — but apparently he wasn’t looking for her. For his part, Cypress was determined to find Lucy on his own — it was stubborn and bullheaded, but he would not be swayed.
Backpedaling, “The Odyssey?” Cypress repeated, puzzlement furrowing his brow, “Polyphemus? You said these words and I don’t understand them. Will you teach me what they mean?”
Backpedaling, “The Odyssey?” Cypress repeated, puzzlement furrowing his brow, “Polyphemus? You said these words and I don’t understand them. Will you teach me what they mean?”
October 15, 2016, 05:43 AM
it was no such thing! <3
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the boy spoke his name simply in return, his first name cataloging itself into cesario's mind but it was his middle name 'benvolio' that caught the titan's interest. it was a name that the butcher recognized to his utter dismay. it was the name from one of his mother's tales. the one she'd called romeo & juliet easily her favorite he'd assumed for how oft she recited it to him. for a moment this struck the titan's intrigue, but it was fleeting. he did not ask the boy if he knew of it because it was inconsequential in the end. cypress told him of his missing brother, offering him a description. “i'll keep my eye out,” cesario vowed knowing that he would stick to it. he knew what it was like to have lost someone after all. it was a feeling of kinship that spurred the titan to do it: as opposed to a gesture of kindness. the boy asked him of juno and for a small moment of utter weakness cesario felt his breath catch in his throat. he struggled for that fleeting second, swallowing harsher than he'd meant to. who knew that love the very thing he had once spurned and scoffed at would be his downfall? his utter destruction. the titan felt that he should have been humiliated: that a small woman had entangled him so completely around her paw, had reached within the strong confines of his chest and seized his black heart in her fist.
“she is of a small adult stature, her fur a mixture of ivory and creams with golden eyes so bright and fierce they put the sun to shame.” cesario did not do juno justice with his description of her. yet, the butcher was no poet. he lacked his mother's lackadaisical talent to string together beautiful words. “the man that might be with her is smaller than me with a coat the color of fog and white eyes,” though the man who had stolen juno away was best described as a specter he was very real but soon, oh so soon he would join the ranks of the dead but not before cesario made him writhe in agony and torture. he would beg the titan for death which would come slow. craven had crossed the wrong king and regret would come before the mercy of death. “her children ...our children...i don't know how many of them there would be, or what they look like,” though it was painful to consider he added quietly, “i don't know if the man who took my juno would have let them live.” it seemed like the only logical bargaining chip(s) in cesario's mind but he had to think like a madman to catch one and he knew there wasn't anything craven wouldn't do to spite him.
yet their conversation circled around to the odyssey, having apparently, caught the boy's interest. or at the very least, curiosity. “the odyssey is a tale my mother used to tell me when i was a boy. one of the many. odysseus is the hero of the story, and polyphemus is the villain that heroic odysseus has to outsmart. polyphemus was a cyclops. a son of the sea god, poseidon. odysseus got trapped in polyphemus' lair — he tricked the cyclops whom he'd blinded by saying that he was nobody as he hid behind a sheep when the cyclops let them out to the pasture to graze to free himself. i've deduced that cyclops aren't very smart.” he added the last part dryly, enunciating that he didn't put much stock into her whimsical stories as told by the way he used lazy storytelling to explain the gist of the tale to the boy.
[/td][/tr][/table]“she is of a small adult stature, her fur a mixture of ivory and creams with golden eyes so bright and fierce they put the sun to shame.” cesario did not do juno justice with his description of her. yet, the butcher was no poet. he lacked his mother's lackadaisical talent to string together beautiful words. “the man that might be with her is smaller than me with a coat the color of fog and white eyes,” though the man who had stolen juno away was best described as a specter he was very real but soon, oh so soon he would join the ranks of the dead but not before cesario made him writhe in agony and torture. he would beg the titan for death which would come slow. craven had crossed the wrong king and regret would come before the mercy of death. “her children ...our children...i don't know how many of them there would be, or what they look like,” though it was painful to consider he added quietly, “i don't know if the man who took my juno would have let them live.” it seemed like the only logical bargaining chip(s) in cesario's mind but he had to think like a madman to catch one and he knew there wasn't anything craven wouldn't do to spite him.
yet their conversation circled around to the odyssey, having apparently, caught the boy's interest. or at the very least, curiosity. “the odyssey is a tale my mother used to tell me when i was a boy. one of the many. odysseus is the hero of the story, and polyphemus is the villain that heroic odysseus has to outsmart. polyphemus was a cyclops. a son of the sea god, poseidon. odysseus got trapped in polyphemus' lair — he tricked the cyclops whom he'd blinded by saying that he was nobody as he hid behind a sheep when the cyclops let them out to the pasture to graze to free himself. i've deduced that cyclops aren't very smart.” he added the last part dryly, enunciating that he didn't put much stock into her whimsical stories as told by the way he used lazy storytelling to explain the gist of the tale to the boy.
Cypress listened attentively as the sumac-eyed wolf described his goddess, the boy’s eerie lantern-yellow gaze likewise firecaught with the fervent desire to seek, find, and keep. He observed with characteristic intensity the way Cesario’s breath caught in his throat, tangling with the words that were helpless to encapsulate his Juno, and there was a vulnerable, desperately lonely part of Cypress that was terribly moved by the man’s moment of weakness. Bright eyes misted over with tears as his breathing stuttered and skipped before regaining its regular rhythm; he was, after all, just shy of four months old. I want my brother back! His young, wildly aching heart drummed painfully as he cast his gaze down to his paws. He wanted to find Lucy and Rannoch; he wanted Scimitar to come home; he wanted to leave all three of them behind so that they would know how it felt to be the one who didn’t get picked. When he’d steadied himself, “Thanks,” Cypress intoned huskily. “I’ll keep my eye out, too.”
The fledgling fell silent again as Cesario spoke of Odysseus and Polyphemus, his mouth rounding into a fascinated “o” even as his brow furrowed in thought. Perhaps sometimes being smart was as good as being strong — better, even! An ordinary man had tricked the son of a god and survived to become a hero. “I like that story,” he said, reworking the tale in his mind and adding detail and color to the flat, unenthusiastic telling. He ferreted away phrases like “eyes so bright and fierce they put the sun to shame” and “a coat the color of fog” to use in his own speech, relishing the bright and thrilling way they sounded. “Cesario,” he said suddenly, “don’t worry. You’ll find Juno. I mean, she has to be looking for you and missing you, too. We…we can’t give up hope.” He did his best to stand straighter and taller, though it made him bashful to use the word “we” when he and Cesario were clearly worlds apart. Deep down, it was what Cypress wanted to believe of Rannoch and Lucy — that they wanted to find him just as badly as he wanted to find them. Though hurt and worry had created a veneer of angry bitterness behind which he concealed his deepest fears, Cypress could not deny that he needed them.
Lucy, where are you?
The boy had lingered too long — with a briefly uttered, “I have to go now,” he made a graceless exit, loping on gangly legs not toward home but deeper into the glen.
The fledgling fell silent again as Cesario spoke of Odysseus and Polyphemus, his mouth rounding into a fascinated “o” even as his brow furrowed in thought. Perhaps sometimes being smart was as good as being strong — better, even! An ordinary man had tricked the son of a god and survived to become a hero. “I like that story,” he said, reworking the tale in his mind and adding detail and color to the flat, unenthusiastic telling. He ferreted away phrases like “eyes so bright and fierce they put the sun to shame” and “a coat the color of fog” to use in his own speech, relishing the bright and thrilling way they sounded. “Cesario,” he said suddenly, “don’t worry. You’ll find Juno. I mean, she has to be looking for you and missing you, too. We…we can’t give up hope.” He did his best to stand straighter and taller, though it made him bashful to use the word “we” when he and Cesario were clearly worlds apart. Deep down, it was what Cypress wanted to believe of Rannoch and Lucy — that they wanted to find him just as badly as he wanted to find them. Though hurt and worry had created a veneer of angry bitterness behind which he concealed his deepest fears, Cypress could not deny that he needed them.
Lucy, where are you?
The boy had lingered too long — with a briefly uttered, “I have to go now,” he made a graceless exit, loping on gangly legs not toward home but deeper into the glen.
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