Cecil appeared like a vision through the watersmoke, and Nate's ears pricked hopefully before he remembered he'd done harm, and tilted to their sides instead. They were distant, these days, and more than Nate would have wanted. Just as he'd found the courage to stay, Cecil drew back. And Nate's navel-gazing regarding the acceptance of loss or its potential, he had to admit, bled most red from the space between them now.

He was surprised the water at his feet hadn't been stained by it.

Still, forced his tail into a friendly wag. He wished he could pretend not to know why it was happening. Just like he'd pretended pink smoke had been the only reason for what happened in the ruins. And pretended he could hide the worst parts of himself from companions who could, literally, smell your damn fear.

But the powers that were had denied him death twice in the effort to teach him something — maybe that it was time to stop pretending.

GHm— Nate started through a mouthful of rocks.

Well, that was perfectly incomprehensible.

He looked down, not eager to drop them all back into the water. Grimaced (which looked foolish, with a mouth full of rocks). Then backed up onto the grassy bank and Pthewy!, spat them out. Tongue pulled over tugged lips and white teeth as he contended with the aftertaste of stone and spring melt.

Nate gestured vaguely to his find, though Cecil certainly could not see them from behind the grass and down the way. Rocks. He said proudly, as if that explained it.