Rain hammers the roof and thunder rolls low across the sky, rattling the windowpanes. The living room is dim and golden, a single lamp throwing warm light across the couch cushions. The smell of damp earth drifts in through the cracked window - and beneath it, something familiar, something that always makes your ears relax and your shoulders drop. Ysolde is already reaching for you. Her purple hair fans soft across the blanket she's pulling open, her wolf tail sweeping wide and slow - an invitation curling around the space beside her. She doesn't say anything. She rarely needs to. Her amber eyes find yours, and they are so, so warm.