all the pretty little things

A howl streaked across the winter skies, piercing the cool--but nowhere near freezing--air of winter in the relatively tropical lands. Her brow furrowed deeply, ears flicking back with confusion at the familiarity of the howl, and yet... No, impossible...



Her paws moved quickly, her strength more than recuperated from her birth and her form already nearly back to normal with the exception of the teats that were slightly swollen with milk and hung lower past her stomach. She stopped as she neared enough to see him past the mangroves, which weren't as thick in this portion, forcing her head higher despite the fact she wished for it to droop.



"K-Kylar?" she breathed, approaching slowly, tentatively, but stopping to sit a few feet away, "I... I thought you were... dead?"



This isn't right, she thought. He can't-- I've already told... Her throat tightened a little at the thought.