He at times tried to deny it. The call and the pull he felt, the one that beckoned at his soul. It was different than the one that caused his feet to itch. This call went deeper, pulsing through his body, causing his fur to stand on edge and ripple over his back. Through times of idleness, it called to him deeper. It was irresistible. The need to be there. The need to be next to her. He could feel her pain, her sadness. He wanted to take away her tears. The tears he knew had been falling, spilling onto the ground to create rivers of the world. Now they had dried, still the pain remained.

Ears forward, nearly thoughtless, moving only through instinct. Pagan’s paws carried him over the snow covered earth. Through the piles of snow and moving through the shadows of the trees, he sought her. Wounds healed, but there had been something more missing. He would be what she needed him to be.

It did not take him long to find her, the flower of his soul. In the wildlands of Moladion he finally picked up the trail and followed it solidly instead of moving by soul-bound. Slowly, carefully, he picked his way through the darker caverns of the crags, avoiding the dangers of the strange terrain, though instantly missing the light of the sun. He was aware enough to know he had not been to her what he could have, nor when he could have. It was best to be patient, to give the choice back to her.

Pagan lowered his head slightly, and woofed a plea for her to come to him. There are no flowers here… he whispered into the darkness. No light and living for you to shine on… How dearly he hoped she could come to him, so she could be his flower, his earth, his stable ground.