Roundabout- Yes
In and around the lake
Mountains come out of the sky they

Stand there
Twenty four before my love and I'll be
There...

It was how they'd meet up. He'd leave a pebble, smooth and white with a tiny number scratched onto it, if they were going to the Oasis where he'd find those pale stones. Or a rusty old bolt if she was meant to join him on the rooftop of Home. And every now and then, she'd find a tiny feather of yellow Chocobo down, telling her to meet him at the rocky sand dune, that mini mountain that stood up off the horizon just behind Home, where the Chocobos would sometimes build their nests. He'd leave these little treasures for her, telling her to come out in 24 hours of the number he left with them.

And every time she'd come out, twenty-four hours after the calling card was left, and he'd be there, already waiting. Every time, without fail.

Then one time he left a seashell.

He'd never left one before. But she knew it was him.

He had left it at five in the morning, so at half-past four, she had crept out of bed and out the door.

Once outside of Home, she ran across the sand dunes, seeing only by the light of the moon.

She'd never received a seashell from him before, but she knew where he'd found it. West of Home was an ancient, dried up salt-bed where an inland sea had once been home to marine life millennia ago.

"Gippal?"

He turned, his face heavy and forlorn. And then he told her, about how he was leaving. He offered her his handkerchief, but she didn't need it; her eyes were dry. She almost laughed at the irony that she had to tell him the same; she was leaving too.

But when he pressed the white pebble with the date five years from now engraved on it, the tears flowed freely.