Hasan stood frozen for several minutes, his breath hot and fast in his mouth, but there were no more flashes. Nonetheless, the significance of what had just occurred was not lost on him. Typically his vision was at its worst at night. In the nearly two years since his injury, his daytime vision had improved enough for him to make out light and shadow, and perhaps even the tiniest suggestion of movement, but at night he was as blind at ever. Until now.

As the moments ticked by and he saw nothing else, however, his hopes began to fade. He'd experienced plenty of oddities in his vision, so perhaps the flashes had simply been nerves misfiring. Nothing else had improved in months, after all.

Then, a familiar voice from behind him.

"Shenzi?" he breathed, his heart quickening for yet another reason, and shifted on the soft, springy ground to take a couple steps in her direction, his ears pricked and his muzzle questing out to touch her. He wanted to rush to her side, but he let her breach the gap between them, not wanting to crash into her.

Given their history, he had, quite frankly, not expected to see Shenzi again after their reunion in autumn, even with her promises that she would return once she'd located their daughter. Their relationship was like that of an albatross: make a child, then glide on broad wings out to sea, perhaps never to return.

Perhaps the flashes had been a sign that something was different this time.

As the crickets continued their serenade, Hasan reached again for her, wanting to touch any part of her, feel the softness of her coat and breathe in her familiar scent. His breath clouded in the air around them, enveloping them like a veil of secrecy.

"Shenzi," he said again, as if feeling the weight of her name on his tongue could make this moment more real. He dodged her question, but his voice was rich and deep with pleasure as he peppered her with his own. "My brave wanderer woman. How are you? How was your journey? Did you— Did you find her?"