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Quiet.

A gust of wind here, drifting over and along the mountainside like the landscape’s exhale, carrying with it the sound and scent of life there. The morning was cool. Early enough still to be crisp with the previously bitter pinch of night and not yet warmed under the coming sun. Detraeus stood outside his home of twenty years, empty as it hadn’t been in as many and familiar to him as his bow. His son had left without word. His daughter, soon after — though in her case, at least, he and his mate had seen her safely to the hybrid city, Tukyere, and personally aided in settling her into her new environment with her…mate, before making their way back.

Now, Araceli was far gone — out of the mountains, over the sea, and up into Planes beyond to speak with her ‘leader.’ Having been several days since her departure, Detraeus awaited her return with all the patience of a caged beast, trodding back over the same path again, and again in anticipation of a final opening. Before her leaving, they had discussed their intent as to living arrangements and travel, now that their ‘nest’ was empty and it was no longer necessary — or possible — to keep their children sequestered away in the Terra Expanse for safety.

Ayr, having been the location that had once, years before, brought them together into the final legs of what became their relationship as it was today, held special meaning for both of them. Thus, they decided, it was where they would build their next home: just the two of them, the rocky pillars, sloping greens, and the whispered tidings of the long winds.

Detraeus drew a breath, and exhaled, his gaze turning intermittently towards the sky in the direction his mate would come from, ever in the hope that in one of those instances, evidence of her would fill the previously empty stratosphere.

“Come, Araceli,” he murmured. “You make me anxious, sky princess…as you ever have.”

Detraeus bristled at the initial dragon roar, attention snapping in its direction and fingers immediately moving to his quiver, Avarice already in hand. But then, he narrowed his eyes, tail sweeping low to the ground with curiosity because the beast did not look like any he had seen in his forty years or so of experience, and he knew to expect his mate back in the form of her dragon self. Cautious as always, though, he maintained a readied pose, wary as he watched the dragon sweep in and feeling his pulse beat rough and uncertain in his throat.

Then, she dove.

Detraeus was, for a moment, rigid — torn between reaction and holding himself back, and—

Then, she was in his arms, diving to barrel into him, and after a half-second’s lag of panic, Detraeus released a heavy exhale, arms moving to cling and drag her close and tail sweeping around to do the same. When he kissed her, it was pressing and hungry, openly-relieved weighted with all his days of worry. When he let it break, his eyes were shut, forehead touched to hers and fingers still buried in her hair as he nosed close.

“I missed you…”

Detraeus flushed, nodding in consent as she went to move, and—he froze, and pinched his fingers tighter in hers, stilling her as his eyes landed on the bandages at her wrist. “Ara…what is this?”

Rationally, he knew she couldn’t be hurt. Not severely, in any case. She had made it home, was happy, smiling, moving about. Her true form seemed fully in function and she showed no signs of immediate distress. Rationality, however, did little to remove the nervous stutter of his pulse on seeing signs of some form of injury, and he couldn’t help but worry, reaching and skimming his fingers up the uncovered portion of her arm.

“Were you hurt on the trip…?”

Detraeus blinked at the assertion, still wary on some level, but more relaxed given that not only did she appear healthy — but she was assuring him that she was. He watched, tail sweeping side to side with intent as he watched her peel back the bandaging. When she finished, he tilted his head, lifting one hand to hold at top of her wrist loosely while studying the underside: an arrow, a wave, and a snowflake. All small, but definite and distinct, unmistakable.

As their meaning sunk in, heat crawled towards his face, a stutter building in his chest. On one hand, his personal experience with permanent body markings had been near to as negative as could possibly be imagined. But that was an experience in the past — the very distant past, now — and these were markings of his family. Representations of himself and their two children together made into a permanent attribute of his mate’s skin.

He leaned in, touching his forehead to her temple before kissing her cheek. “You are not hurt.”

Detraeus blinked, staring openly for a pause at his mate.

Then, as the full weight of the words registered, some hybrid of a growl and a purr rumbled up from his throat, tail looping around to synch her against him. The next moment, he hoisted her up, supporting her like a new bride as he carried her back into their home. Strange as it may have been to have their familiar spaces empty again, devoid of their children who had filled said spaces for the better part of two decades, it did come with its advantages. The freedom to carry his mate in, lay her out, and remind them both of all the dips, grooves, scars and intimate details that made each of them up, free from worry of interruption or embarrassment, was one such bonus.

Detraeus took full advantage of that.