Blackbeak Bluff with all these memories bittersweet

A sigh left him as he took stock of what lied ahead of him. From on high the varied paths worn in stood out, the options to take across an unfamiliar strand as numerous as they were obvious. That ghastly glimpse of ghost remained just that, lost to the salty wind and absent to the wander of his critical gaze. He was a skilled tracker if nothing else, but when things simply dematerialized to nothing, was there really any one thing to track?

He had been testing the air in hopes to pick up her trail again when another part of the jutting spar mewled. So preoccupied that his quarry was beating a retreat he had not considered that they would hide, and he pulled his gaze away from the sway of the terrain to find a rather jarring visage peering back at him.

Recognition was something reminiscent of a lightning strike; it struck hard and fast and never quite in the same place twice. He blinked, the passing of momentary stupidfication replaced by the slick vack of ears to the crown of his head as limbs absently guided him down from the stones.

"It is you," he said, hushed and soft. A proper fleet of questions rose as he tentatively reached out for her with his muzzle—the reaction not at all unlike the one she offered to him—but they were lost to the eager swing of his tail and buried somewhere in the smile that came to.