you're the beacon / epithet & anyone

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

Femur has been the best thing that ever happened to Claw. And, it would seem, she was probably a good thing for Tephra too.

“Isn’t that her little friend?” The warg thinks, Wildling hopping in dizzying circles around his body. The set of matching emerald eyes he sports dance over the tops of the waves, turning quickly to the swath of land that connects Tephra and the Field at low-tide. It’s there he spots a familiar shape treading through the dark waters. “Wound.” The blue stallion recalls, turning a frown to his son when the leggy colt tries to nip at his hindquarters.

“Can you find something for me?” He challenges, the subtle hint of curiosity striking a similar tendril of flame in Wildling’s eyes. “Close to home there’s a few sapling willows,” He explains, home being their Meranti tree, of course, “Can you bring me some bark?” He wonders aloud, unable to suppress the proud grin that changes his face once Wildling has shot off like a bullet.

When he turns his attention back to the silver bay mare and her companion, both have trawled the Tephran shoreline and are resting just beyond his reach, near the entrance of a well-worn path. “No time like the present.” He muses, slipping down a carpeted bank to expose himself to the open. The Commander follows the trail out towards them quickly, enjoying the sensation of hard packed earth dissolving to sand beneath him and when he feels that his approach can no longer be ignored, he calls out.

“Wound! I’m glad to see you back.” And this is a true statement, one that carries over to his features as they affix themselves to her slightly smaller frame. She seems … different somehow, but for the better. Longclaw grins. “And I see you’ve taken up Femur’s habits as well.” He jokes lightly, head tilting to view the newcomer. “Welcome to Tephra. I’m Longclaw.”

@[wound] @[Epithet] couldn't resist