He called her and, obediently, she drew herself to him. He did not move as she stepped in close, not to reach for her (though he badly wanted to) or hurt her as he’d done the first time they crossed paths. Peyote was still until she had tucked herself up against his body and then he trembled; it was subtle, but with how close they were pressed, she would feel the shiver that went through him. He lifted his chin over her back and laid his neck across her with gentle pressure, not holding her up against him. He didn’t have to, she was there of her own will.

He was proud of her.

I knew you’d come, she told him and Peyote smiled from where he rested comfortably over her two-toned back. In this one moment he was more at ease than he had been since the day he had to tell her to leave the Lagoon and return to this place.

Peyote’s eyelids drifted slowly closed as he moved to press his lips against her skin, rubbing his whiskered velvet against her coat and taking in her scent as he inhaled. The rush of his exhale was one of relief.

“Come back,” he murmured against her with a warm breath, voice still, but not demanding. Asking.