4/18/2025, 1:40 PM
Each day he spent in the little meadow they'd woken up in was great. But he also had a desire to find a home they both really enjoyed. He knew Geraint was nearby, within earshot, possibly even where he could see Nightingale. The two were damn near inseparable, not really willing to part ways again after the last time they'd lost one another.
Still, it didn't stop the fact that they had to move. Food was important. Finding others they trusted was, too. They would both feel more secure if they found a family. Nightingale new that, though he also knew it was something that gave his mate a bit of anxiety. Either way.
The marsh here was almost magical and he found himself enjoying the soft din of the birds. Now and then, a flicker of light caught his eye but he hadn't quite pinpointed what it was. A hint of something in a shadow that piqued his curiosity. His gaze settled out over a little expanse of water ahead of him and he paused to take in a deep breath.
Peaceful. This place was peaceful. Enchanting, even. Nothing like the home he'd grown up in. In fact, his childhood home paled in comparison to what he had seen of this strange land. His mind wandered to how he'd gotten here. Was it true? Had he died?
The scar on his chest in front and just behind his left shoulder confirmed it, in a way. The remnatns of an elk's tines in his chest and side. The memory of the event was not really there, though he dreamt of it sometimes. Such a wicked way to die, too.
Nightingale shook his head. There was no point in dwelling over it. He was here now, and doing quite well. He found himselef padding to the water's edge and touching it lightly with his nose before taking a drink.
Still, it didn't stop the fact that they had to move. Food was important. Finding others they trusted was, too. They would both feel more secure if they found a family. Nightingale new that, though he also knew it was something that gave his mate a bit of anxiety. Either way.
The marsh here was almost magical and he found himself enjoying the soft din of the birds. Now and then, a flicker of light caught his eye but he hadn't quite pinpointed what it was. A hint of something in a shadow that piqued his curiosity. His gaze settled out over a little expanse of water ahead of him and he paused to take in a deep breath.
Peaceful. This place was peaceful. Enchanting, even. Nothing like the home he'd grown up in. In fact, his childhood home paled in comparison to what he had seen of this strange land. His mind wandered to how he'd gotten here. Was it true? Had he died?
The scar on his chest in front and just behind his left shoulder confirmed it, in a way. The remnatns of an elk's tines in his chest and side. The memory of the event was not really there, though he dreamt of it sometimes. Such a wicked way to die, too.
Nightingale shook his head. There was no point in dwelling over it. He was here now, and doing quite well. He found himselef padding to the water's edge and touching it lightly with his nose before taking a drink.
Geraint is welcome in any and all of Nightingale's threads at any point.