Whitewater Gorge Like a cry at the final breath that is drawn

When the stranger took notice of him, turned and spoke, Yellowbelly was expecting — well, he wasn't sure. Some form of recognition, maybe. A lightning strike, an eruption of understanding, something that would clarify things to him. Rather than get any sort of answer to his unspoken questions he got a greeting - and for a second or two, just stared at the stranger's face. The look of the stranger really struck a chord within Larus; he saw pieces of himself reflected back, between the burly proportions of their body to the round, soft, weighted quality of their face and --- and the colors, that flaming mask, everything was just so — —

Uh, hi, he shot back once he realized he was staring like a creep. He glanced at the man's eyes and felt his guts constrict, his belly filling with fluttering wings, because they looked like his eyes. But he had no memory of this wolf or any relation between them - Larus never once thought about being their parent, and had to focus himself, lest he get lost in his mind to the possibilities. Um, sorry -- you look, like, really familiar. But also not at all. Which... Makes no sense, obviously. Do I --- know you? Do you recognize me at all...? The more he rambled the less certain he felt, until he made himself stop talking because hell he knew he sounded like a crazy person.