Wind tugged wildly at the wayward strands of her mane, tossing it too and fro across her neck as if determined to tear it from her body. Without the shelter provided by the trees of the Bay, the wind did not bother with the pretense of being mild. Here, it was unbound, allowed to run freely over the undulating grasses and over the backs of the hunched residents. You could even see it, here, in the way it lifted skiffs of snow into wild whorls and caused the grasses to bow and dance with each gust.

It was as pretty as her momma said it was. Which wasn't all that surprising, for all Corvette's faults, dishonesty was not one of them. But Corvair still didn't understand why her mother had flat out refused to bring her to the Inlet, no matter how hard she pleaded. After all, it was Corvette's own fault that Corvair was obsessed with it. She loved hearing her mother talk of her early days with her parents and of the stories of her great-grandfather that had been passed down. It never made sense to the girl why they couldn't go see it with their own eyes, but the answer was always the same.

Or it had been, until recently.

Fell's disappearance had sapped some of the light from Corvette's eyes, and they had grown quieter as of late. More reclusive. Corvair wasn't a particular fan, considering they were still with family and it wasn't as if they were homeless. Emhyr was nice enough for an older half-brother, but she knew her momma missed her father. Corvair did too, of course, but she had faith that he would return to them when he was done doing… whatever it was that he was doing.

The girl's soft brown gaze skimmed across the horizon, wondering where the cave was where great-grandpa was buried. Or where the rocks were on which her mother had nearly scraped her knee. Would she find her grandpa somewhere here? Just waiting for them to come home?