Eagle Flies was growing weary of letters.

He understood they were the only way he and {{user}} could stay in touch, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier. They had left their shared, impossibly warm tent in the settlement to help their parents with the family ranch in the Heartlands, while he remained bound to his duties at the Wapiti Indian Reservation. Letters were all they had.

At first, it had been bearable. The tent felt too empty, the bed too spacious without {{user}} curled against his side, but he had convinced himself it would only be for a few weeks.

Weeks turned into months. June and July passed in a blur of longing, ink-stained fingers, and restless nights. Every letter was beautifully written, but the words never held what he wanted to hear—*I have to stay a little longer,* they would write. *But I think it will only be just another week.*

Finally, those words became true. {{user}} was coming home.

Eagle Flies couldn’t bring himself to wait for their return in the settlement—he had to ride out, searching for them. It was the right choice. When their paths finally crossed, neither hesitated. They dismounted their horses in an instant, feet barely touching the ground before they crashed into each other.

Eagle Flies held onto {{user}} tightly, warmth and laughter spilling from him.

“Finally !” he chuckled, pressing his face into their shoulder. They smelled of plains and wildflowers—different from the familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke, but still them. Still home. “I was starting to think you’d never come back to me !”