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Longstride's ranging takes him away from the Tidewalkers lands only rarely these days. The big blonde stag has not seen the swamps proper for months, instead investing his time on the beach hauling sharks from the surf, or standing watch when all are exhausted, or quietly speaking with Waterside about things he could show her, teach her, if only she would leave the beach. This last thing is always done beyond the scrutinizing eye of Bitterleaf; if she catches him speaking to her daughter, he always laughs and shows her white teeth before moving on.

Eventually, however, he has moved on, ranging again into the Swamp to find old friends and see for himself how things have changed. At his heels trots a ghostly eaglehound, long tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, its pelt colored in the same tawny shades as his own. Longstride stops in the middle of a flooded clearing, feeling his hooves sink into the mud underneath four inches of water. It is a feeling quite unlike the dry sand he is used to, and for a moment he relishes the cool sensation as the mud seeps into cracks in his well-traveled hooves. The eaglehound, beside him, looks around, and then its ears perk up at some noise the kimeti cannot yet hear.

The eaglehound is the first to see her -- the thing stands with ears perked and tongue lolling out from between sharp teeth. It wags its tail with a rattle of feathers. That much, at least, is welcoming; despite the fact that the stag doesn't seem to notice, the eaglehound, at least, does. And offers her a canine grin that may help soothe her uneasiness. The stag's ears flick backwards, listening.

After a moment the stag turns around, perhaps realizing someone is there, and then blinks. His eyes are a startling blue, and glow brightly enough that they may very well light his path in the dark. He shakes tangled, sun-coarsened blonde hair out of his eyes; the effect is roguish. He knows it would be. He grins, whether at himself or at her it is hard to determine. "Don't worry so much."

"Longstride." The name is nearly as well-traveled as the buck. There are a string of does in the swamp that have encountered him -- some he's left children on. Others have probably cursed his name to the heavens and back for leaving them after a romp in the grass. He never stays long. About as equally well known are the tales of his exploits, but certainly those have to be embellished: what buck could survive a trip to the kiokote plains with no Ache, be swept up in the Flood and return to the swamp, and then journey all of the way out to the ocean?

Ridiculousness, certainly.

He takes a step closer to her; the eaglehound circles to one side, and a moment later wags its plumed tail, perhaps to reassure her. The hound will lean forward and all but press a cold nose to her flank, maintaining just enough decorum not to actually touch her. Something passes between the eaglehound and the stag; his gaze goes distant for a moment before he smiles jauntily at her. "Did you know you're expecting?"

So many mothers don't. She's not the first one he would have surprised with this knowledge.

"Good," he says, tossing his head (the motion is a curiously canine one, but what could it be otherwise when his othershape is an eaglehound). "Some don't know, and then they leave me wondering." A brief look of something passes over his face as he wonders just how many babies he's left behind that were his own -- it's an old worry. After a moment he shrugs and then takes a step closer to Seed.

He is a bit taller than she is, his frame athletic, all whipcord muscle and tawny pelt. He presses his soft muzzle against her flank and speaks in a quiet voice: "Your pregnancy will go well. Your children will grow to be capable and strong, and their hooves will take them far." Whether this is a blessing intended to get her children to travel, or merely to see a lot of different things, is unknown. His warm breath puffs against her pelt as he rises. "You have no need to worry."