Blackbeak Bluff with all these memories bittersweet

Relief—if it could have been called just that—flooded her instaneously, a breakdown of some proverbial dam shimmered lively as emotion in her eyes and movements. He had braced himself as she pressed into him; he gently came to rest his muzzle atop her head in a wolfish embrace and caught her words over the coastal din. They were like tempered glass, those cracks spidering out did not leave much wonder in what strength remained, nor did they belie their ability to be cutting.

All this time and he never once considered that he lost her. But she had disappeared, hadn't she? Or perhaps it were more complicated than that altogether. It hardly mattered to him now as he began to preen at her fur, as though the very action was the remedy to soothe all, the perfect tincture for things that were far worse than a scrape.

"Oh I doubt I'd be able to get far," he said with every good natured intent. "You always found me before. Maybe it was time I found you." Evidentally it had been a necessity this time—he was not blind to the fact something had happened, but wise enough to know not to pry. The blanks would fill themselves in soon enough if they did not already; beneath the sea salt so potent on her coat, she still carried a story along her peppered coat.