Eyes like shards of twilight crack and shimmer in a display of elation; she feels the adoration and relief in them, small graces for a tired soul. He wipes her tears away in a tender gesture, unravelling every mile she has traveled, all the trials and doubt she has endured—her lower lip trembles with hardly felt emotions, rare things like exaltation and gratitude (to whom? a divinity? fate?). "I missed you," she breathes into the embrace, ears flicked backwards in a display of piety. Perhaps later she will feel all the aches of a long journey home, but beneath the velvet strokes of her father's kisses, Lothíriel is renewed, a child once more; spindly-legged and impetuous.

The Reaper withdraws, gazing at his daughter with a steady eye. She is dusty and skinnier than usual, leaves and mud tangled with flowers in her moonspun hair. For once in her life, the queen of flowers is disheveled, wilted, her sagging petals bruised and half-eaten by beetles. Beneath the starlight however, none of that is all too noticeable, other than her tired eyes and the slowness of her throbbing limbs. I am glad to see you well, he says to her, eliciting a little smile from the roan girl, but it begins to fade as she watches her father become distant, his eyes searching the dark places between trees; she knows who he seeks in the night, and something catches at the back of his throat. Again, he leans in, his muzzle brushing her ears in an effort to keep his next words private. Lothíriel knows what the question will be, and once he speaks, the nymph hesitates, eyes cast downwards as she struggles to draw the words out from her now-frozen heart. 

Lips tremble once more, but not from any approximation of happiness. 

"I lost her"—the words, when finally spoken, are barely audible, spoken briefly into the curve of his ear like a confession. They are guilty words, promising a long and arduous story, but before she can elaborate, Roux speaks. Barely composed, the girl's head jerks backwards, her gaze landing on the red bay with strange eyes. Vaguely, Lothíriel wonders if he can see at all, although she decides that is a senseless thing to wonder, as he can obviously recognize the Basin's Lord. An avian sound rings out from above, startling the white-maned girl; she tilts her swart nose, regarding the canopy uneasily. Thingol caws loudly in response, gliding down to perch on his bonded's horn. White feathers gleam in the starlight, and his beady scarlet eyes contemplate the two males. "Let's leave," she concludes, sitting weight onto her haunches before turning to the direction of home.

[I tried writing this post for three days and it's still awful. ;__;]