Dante only nodded in response to Belita’s suggestion. He would drag himself out of his shell soon enough, but for now he had her return to fill the time with. That was enough for him to concentrate on at the moment. Baby steps, little by little, was the only way for one as quirky and contemplative as Dante; those like him tended to move and act slowly, for they deliberated long and hard over every tiny thing they did.

Ah, travelling. Dante knew the feeling well, for before he had settled in the Paradise he had wandered all around the Lost Islands, preferring the Crossing to his birth home, the Badlands, where he would have been welcome to stay for as long as he desired. He could even have taken the territory as his own when his father died, but by then his wanderings had become specific to only one island in particular—Atlantis.

And there he had stayed, content. Yet sometimes he still missed the freedom of a traveller’s life.

At her final words, Dante’s attention returned to Belita, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Though she had lived in the Paradise for some time, part of that with her sons, they had never really had the chance to become close. He considered her a friend of sorts, but he knew little about her and hadn’t known that she had cared enough about him to miss him while she was gone.

The thought, however simple, made him smile, and he accepted her gentle gesture, allowing her to touch his neck on the side of his good eye.

“I missed you, too, Belita,” he said simply, his voice quieter with her closer proximity. Slowly, he reached out to rest his own muzzle lightly against her neck.

“Hopefully I won’t have to again.”

DANTE
a man possessed of some radical notions