Theirs wasn't the fiery kind of reunion filled with burning pain and flaring passion that leaves all eyes moist and all hearts a-flutter. It wasn't punctuated with sobs or broken with embraces. No, it was the quiet kind of reunion, filled with a sense of peace and a quiet acceptance which stroked the frayed nerves of the silvery female and allowed her to shut her eyes for a brief moment, inhaling the sweet breeze that filled her nares with the rich scents of all of Moladion. Upon opening them again, she found Moth's warm gaze resting upon her face, concerned but joyous. Only a tiny glint of sadness was present to remind Cvijet of Moth's broken relationship with her father. She regarded the other female quietly, taking in her greying muzzle and hearing the squeal of bone on bone when she shifted. Time had not been kind to her. Cvijet considered sharing an old remedy with her, but thought better of it. One does not teach a craftsman how to knap a sculpture. Moth would most probably be affronted by the implication that she did not know what to do for herself, and Cvijet alreay had bad enough news to share with her without offending her as well. Thankfully, she was saved from having to make a choice by the female's own words which were accompanied by a mischevious grin.

The same smile touched the lips of the silver girl, but it did not reach her eyes. To hide this fact, she spoke, voice raised to rival the hollering of the wind, which had picked up and was buffeting Cvijet so that she had to keep righting herself, “And how are you finding the act of spreading your wings? A little more difficult at your age?” she meant them in jest, but had the good grace to look embarrassed after, wondering if she had perhaps said the wrong thing. Thankfully, Moth's good nature meant she most likely would take the female's joke with a pinch of salt as had been originally intended. The other female smiled again and spoke once more, although this time her statement brought disgust to the pert visage of the silvery girl. Cvijet immediately tried to cover up this sentiment, knowing it would hurt the old wolf, but she did not think she had succeeded. How could Moth forget her best friend from Saw Tooth? How could she forget the tall, ungainly female with a heart of gold that had worshipped the ground she walked on? Poor Raku. Cvijet winced slightly in sympathy for the forgotten fatale, but recognised that, at Moth's ripe old age, she was bound to begin forgetting things. She only hoped Moth had not forgotten just how happy Faol'an had made her once. The thought decided her; she could put it off no longer. Haltingly, stutteringly, she began to speak,

“Moth. I am not sure whether you know but I bumped into Holo the other day. He, um, he showed me something. Something terrible. He lead me to a clearing where the trees still wore burn marks from the impact of the comet and there, in the centre of it, scattered about by scavengers, a skeleton,” here she broke off to swallow, her emerald eyes beginning to wet and her lyrics scratching her throat on their way up, “A wolf skeleton. A wolf skeleton with only three legs...”

At this point she was unable to continue and she let her head hang, breaking off eye contact in order to give Moth room to grieve, if she saw fit to do so. Cvijet knew she would have to toughen up, for she also meant to bring the news to Niviaq, Faol`an's more recent mate – this if she did not yet know. After a magnificent life, the great, old brujo had died the way he had lived; with honour trying to save a wolf cub, whose tiny skull lay still ensconsed in his jaws.