Dragoncrest Cliffs moonstone.

The voice called to him once more, though he hadn't expected the sharp insistence of her tone. He hunched his peppered shoulders and huffed, defiant. Dacio had never been a disobeient child but now, hardened by battle and tragedy, he was a shadow of the gentle boy he once was. An uncomfortable silence followed his mother's demand, one alive with the anxiety of a boy who'd knowingly wronged his mother, before his pallid eyes fluttered open and he cast his gaze across the glowing blue sea that stretched as far as he could see.

If this is a dream, he willed, and inhaling deeply as he tried to mentally prepare for the terrifying sight of a drowned wolfess that he imagined his sire had seen that fateful day on Drageda's shore, then let it be a good one.

Hesitant, the silver Gona gathered to his paws. He took his time to turn around, afraid of what he might see, and he focused on the rapid increase of his own heartrate. Blood coursed his veins so rapidly that he felt his head grow light, as was evident in the sway of his step. Mouth dry, Dacio blinked upward to look upon something that took his breath away.

Portia stood before him, far more vivid and glorious than he remembered. She appeared brighter than ever, her peridot gaze smiling up into his own wide eyes of a more muted shade. A creature made entirely of moonlight and without imperfection, untouched by the horrors of the world: a true embodiment of vitality. He stifled a sob and swallowed his heart, which had managed to rise and lodge itself in his throat.

"I miss you every day," the sterling youth croaked a whisper, overwhelmed suddenly by the urge to reach out and fit himself against her. His very visible distress kept him rooted, however, for fear that she might turn to smoke should he dare touch her.