Dragoncrest Cliffs near-sighted

PPing @Svalinn for now; open to anyone but tagging for visibility! After looking up how far a howl can travel, I would say this is set about 10 miles from the northeastern border.

They must have been getting pretty close to Sapphique now, because Svalinn’s pace had quickened. Another few miles and he started to howl.

Jean-Heron listened to his father’s voice. He’d never heard it so desperate before. “@Chacal! Chacal!”

He struggled to keep up with the goldspear’s lope, carrying his hind leg as quickly as he could. He could walk on it sometimes, but not today. They had covered too much ground in the shortest amount of time yet, and Svalinn insisted they keep going. Said they were too close to rest now.

The boy sang to himself to combat the misery: Almost t’ere, not long now! Maman’ll have a fuckin’ seeeeeaaaaaa cow!

There had once been a beautiful conch shell on the beach; peachy and pearlescent, cleaned by months of being carefully toted about on the bottom of the sea floor until it was rolled out onto the sand with a high tide. Chacal had passed by it many times, admiring it. She'd told herself she should move it to higher ground, where it might be safe; somewhere that she could tuck it away and admire it from time to time. She could gift it to one of her children, or place it as a marker on a grave. Another night passed and the next morning, the shell was gone.

It was in the nature of life to give and take. The conch came, rested, and then vanished. As cruel as it was, friends, children, parents- they came and went, too. But among all the things lost, found, and lost again, men seemed to be particularly keen to wander.

Her name throbbed with the wind, carried by a voice that was near-frantic in nature. The stately Tanzanite sat up and pitched her velveteen ears forward, her expression ambivalent. If it weren't for the tone of his voice, she would have dismissed him for some time yet; given herself a couple hours to stew and figure out what course of action she should take. She might grab Mireille so that they could both chase him away; but her heart, broken and mended many times, was still whole. And it sounded more as a plea than a beg for mercy.

She had no idea that Jean-Heron would be with him. And while he was a young man, Jean-Heron was still her son- and thus, exempt from the punishment of being shunned for leaving.

So she made for the borders, where she would wait patiently for Svalinn to arrive. For the children he had given her, and his longtime devotion to the Sound, she would give him room for an explanation.

There was no return call. No figure coming over the horizon. Jean-Heron’s own howls could not carry far and he was too embarrassed to use them regardless. He watched as his father’s pace become slower and slower over the last few miles, until it was no more than an uncertain trot. The older male seemed to realize something that didn’t occur to his young son.

They saw her elegantly rested figure first. Then her scent carried over the saltwind.

Maman! Jean-Heron croaked shrilly, as loud as his voice allowed. He barged past Svalinn, who for once fell behind, and made a three-legged sprint for his mother. Maman! Maman! He made no effort to keep from crashing into her, unaware of how much he had grown since the last time they had collided.

His half-moon face buried into her goldfringed bosom and wept to be there again.

skippable, but i thought sobeille would be nosy and want to see whats up <3

you know, sometimes people just leave. sobeille had her taste of this early on, and she found she had no appetite for it.

her ears flushed forward at the sound of a howl -- distinctly one of their own -- but a male none the less. like her aunt, she did not feel particularly compelled to rush.

all the same, in time sobeille came. her cool gaze swept over the lagging svalinn, and finally, on the handsome adolescent burying his face in chacal's golden ruff.

was he crying? she picked at a piece of meat lodged between her teeth. men. so dramatic!