The cream colored girl hadn’t vanished as he once feared she might. Just as he still liked to imagine she had washed in from the sea, the threat that she might be swept away by it was still very real. Almost daily he saw her, and many nights they spent together, wherever they found shelter or ended up laying down their young but tired out bodies. He tried not to overwhelm the angelic creature with too much of himself, but neither did he wish to allow the girl to forget his presence. In his zeal to keep her happy (if she was happy, she would stay), Pripyat Soul had showed Arye Cybelle many of the places he frequented. First had been the empty cabin he found with all the strange cubby holes in the floorboards, which he filled with trinkets from Halifax, having moved his collection from the ranch house to the empty cabin. Hesitantly he had showed her the ranch house, or what was left of it, which she probably would have found on her own, explaining to her that he no longer stayed there since the storm. The boy had taken her to Firefly Fields one night and spent the evening star gazing with her, and on another evening he escorted her around the Hill of Graves and together they had sounded out what few names were still legible on the gravestones. They had even climbed through the Red Vine Hollow one afternoon, plucking at the scarlet leaves that consumed the land there. Yet he hadn’t taken her to the one place that meant anything to him at all.

Almost the day before he had taken her there, he had thought of it often. Yet the mood hadn't seemed perfect, and if he brought her to the beacon everything had to be perfect. Pripyat refused to create a memory with the girl that was anything less, and so far through his rose colored glasses they all seemed to meet his standards. Yet the day and grown late and they had separated that night to allow each some semblance of privacy. When he fell asleep he fell asleep thinking of her and the beacon, and the dreams that came to him were composed of the same images until the light of dawn chased them away. When the prince awoke with an empty space beside he felt a gnawing loneliness. The boy knew he had no right to demand Arye always to be near him, but he had grown so accustomed to her nearness that when she was missing he felt lost. To ever admit this to anyone, his father or the others, was unthinkable. The pleasurable anxiety that filled him at the thought of her was far different than the one that constantly plagued him and it was a private matter. If Jefferson should inquire about his scarcity it could just as easily be chalked up to the guilt he felt just as well as the infatuation he experienced. It was this infatuation that spurred him to seek her out the moment the sleep cleared from his head. Wet charcoal nose on the end of his muzzle set to work, retracing his steps the night before and tracking the lady down to her own secluded sleeping space and with a low “woofing” sound announced his presence.

Already it seemed a good morning indeed, he thought as she greeted him warmly. Simply at the sound of her voice his heart set off like a race horse, hammering in his chest. While he might act more reserved around the others, Pripyat couldn't help but return the grin with a wide one of his own, and unconsciously his tail began to wag behind him even in his optime form. Eager eyes looked over the girl, as if to inspect her for any changes that had occurred during the night, and when Prip found Arye just as he left her, his impossibly large smile grew even bigger. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?" And if she hadn't? What could he possibly do except try and make sure she slept better the next night. And the night after that. And hopefully many more nights to come. His racehorse heart beat even quicker at the idea.

While Arye had pulled herself up, Pripyat settled himself down beside her. So accustomed to each other they had grown in the past few days his closeness did not seem out of the ordinary, but at her nearness that familiar and frantic feeling filled him. Anxiety but a rather pleasant anxiety. "Ah, um, do you want some breakfast?" Why hadn't he thought to surprise her with something already caught? Perhaps the next day he would, but for now he let that slight oversight escape him he found his own fingers trailing through the disturbed sawdust beneath them. Yet he made no symbols or signs or even a pattern, but simply raked his fingers through the wood shavings as he waited for her approval on his proposal. Or her rejection of it. Either way he did not mind, so long as whatever they end up doing just then, they did it together.

Pripyat barely could pinpoint the moment when their hands had been apart and then were, suddenly, together. Arye moved so naturally around him, and he around her, it was almost as if they had been friends forever, and yet everything was at once completely new and fresh. The conflicting feelings were an intoxicating mixture and Pripyat found he carved these emotions when he was without the seaside lady. Easily she pulled him out into the day, and he moved with her, fluidly.

"Hunting? Yes. We can go hunting." They had brought down pretty together, although they dined quite often side by side. While Arye hunted for herself, Pripyat could not keep himself from bringing her kill after kill. It would be better to bring it down together and he was thrilled at the idea until more came pouring from Arye. "Fishing? Yes, fishing! We can go fishing!" For as open to the world as she was, Pripyat was as open to her and anything the girl might fancy, he was all too happy to oblige. They were fluid and flexible and Pripyat liked that about them. In motion, as young creatures should be.

Then he was in the lead, pulling her along by their joint palms. "I know just where to fish." The lakes were too easy he felt. And besides, it had been so long since he had stepped into the waters so close to his first home. Arye had to see it sometime, and perhaps it was better that they not go with the intention of eye balling his once home. No, they would go to fish along those shores, because it had been those shore he first tried to fish in. And because the ocean was in motion like they, and they belonged along the sea-shore. Thrilled with this thought he increased their speed, grinning wildly back at her.

One moment the boy was leading the girl by the hand and the next she was sprinting ahead of him. Ocean eyes blinked in confusion and the boy paused, until the words hit him in a rush. "I'll race you to the surf." With a foolish grin he set off after her, finding that his pause had given her quite the head start. Ahead of him he saw her feet flying beneath her, alternating one after the other and as he focused on her he began to gain speed. They were both all motion, two blurs that soon were side by side once more. Pripyat imagined the grey of his fur bleeding into her creamy coat as they rushed side by side trying to gain the lead once more, and he was pleased at the fantasy of their actually running so fast they melded into one another. It was only when they were very close to the water that he overtook her, and yet he did not rush into the surf. Winning the race wasn't the allure of the run.

With a sudden movement he turned and took her up in his arms, letting his own feet go out from beneath him but keeping Arye's slender body against his own burly one. As they tumbled to the ground, Pripyat took great joy in the splash of the water that they had reached. After hitting water their bodies met the wet sand beneath and Pripyat enjoyed this took, feeling the gritty wet stuff stick to their bodies. He eased his grip on the girl and grinned at her, finding the sand that had affixed it's self to her face more appealing. Sitting in the spray and foam of the ocean, he grinned at her, hoping she wouldn't be too sore from the experience, either physically or emotionally. "We win."

The plural for iris is actually irides but that seemed really weird to type. Also sorry for the wait! XD

Pripyat watched as the girl pushed the sandy hair from her face, her fingers shaking the grit free from her fur. Unmindful of the wet sand covering his own face, the boy was delighted when Arye took it upon herself to clear the sand from him too. Grinning at his companion, even as she dropped her hand, Pripyat did not take his eyes from the golden depths of Arye’s irises. Quickly he scooped up and recovered the dropped hand in his own, his large palm covering her smaller one. Tightly he squeezed it, grinning even large at the warmth that was shared between their hand and then he let it drop once more as they moved on to other matters.

Arye stood up and asked a simple question. How do you fish in the ocean? Taking the offered hand, as he stood himself he shrugged up at her. “I don’t really know.” The ash colored lad did not mind admitting his ignorance to Arye, for even now as little as they knew each other he had no qualms about allowing himself to be as he truly was. Standing aside her, Pripyat did not let go of the hand that had helped him up this time. Instead he tugged at it, his feet moving up the shoreline. “Come on, we’ll fish later. I want to go somewhere.”

It was easy to change plans, and direction, because Arye was so adaptable, so flowing. They simply went and did what they wished, and Pripyat did not for a second think that Arye would resist this new impulse. Quickly they came up to, what was to Pripyat, a sacred spot. Pausing so that Arye could take in the sight, Pripyat said not a word about but watched the subtle changes in emotion on what he believed to be the most beautiful face. The lighthouse towered above them, and even now, grown as he was, it seemed to him the most impressively tall structure he could think of. Reaching up into the sky, the circular structure cast a tall shadow over them and neither of the two had to squint as silently Pripyat watched Arye take in what had once been the only home he knew.

Mind if it fades to black when they enter? I really need to close up some older threads.

Pripyat held his breath as Arye took on the towering lighthouse. Had he brought her here and she hadn’t been in awe, the boy wouldn’t have known how to feel. As it were, as he had thought, Arye seemed to drink in the sight with relish. Reservedly he let the air escaped him, sucking in fresh sea air after the slow and thoughtful exhale. Subtly he tightened the grasp he had upon the girl’s hand, turning his ocean eyes to meet the honey drip that she looked at him with. For a long moment no emotions played on his face, but slowly the stoic look broke and a shy grin grew on his lips.

“I grew up here.” Which was not fully true. He had grown up in all of Phoenix Valley. The ranch had been just a much of a home before the snowstorm, but it had been a very different one. The complete and happy family that he had known for so short a time was preluded by memories of just him and his mother. Those memories were private, not even shared with Jefferson who had been, in his own way, part of them. Yet Raven Beacon was here, and was Arye, and Pripyat didn’t feel like hiding a thing from her.

Easily he allowed himself to be led up to the building. He hadn’t been inside it with another since the day him and his mother had turned their backs on their seaside home. Alone he had returned, but that was different. Very different. As they came closer more and more memories came to him, and all at once he wanted to tell her about his childhood. About running up and down the stairs, about the crab and the flowers and his father, and the day when they had decided this wasn’t home anymore. He would tell her, she would know.

Without replying he smiled at the angelic lady of the sea, the girl who had just washed into his life and become affixed there, and pushed open the door to the lighthouse.