sabra_la_antiqua | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: A small Pavo
Where: The Delphinian shoreline, close to one of the smaller villages outside the capitol
When: Year 192, spring
What: The wind, the stars, the waves

[The moons are almost full tonight, rising together and casting purple shadows across the sands. The stars are bright and clear, the wind gentle enough that the waves of the incoming tide are small and barely capped with white.

The last of the fishing boats has been drawn in, the night is almost quiet . . . and small footsteps make their way down to the beach.]

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[Tugs her robes a bit closer around her, looking out to that endless, endless stretch of water . . . and walks closer. And closer.

Somewhere along the way she leaves her shoes, her feet bare as she weaves through clumps of rocks and seaweed, past shellfish and tide pools and other stranded remnants of the deep.]

[She slows only when the sand becomes damp, when the first trickle of salt water touches her toes.

It's cold. She shivers, and looks out . . . looks up, searching for something in the glow of the moons, in their reflections on the water.]

. . . were you calling me?

[Many different kinds of people stroll these sands at night...young, love struck couples, old men lost in reminiscence, sailors who can't be away from it long enough to rest a peaceful night in their beds...

...but not usually ones so small, or footsteps that light. The waves remain low and docile, but a small surge of water--a gust, almost like a breeze--surges forward to lap at her ankles.]

[But the velocity of the fluid doesn't match the system whole and the ripples are outside the predictable observable pattern—

Crouches down, reaching for that wave as if it was something she could catch and hold in her hand, almost surprised when her fingers close around water.]

Do it again?

[The water laps forward again, more gently this time, but still out of rhythm with the rest of the tide. If you insist.]

[It soaks through the edges of her robes, but she pays that no mind at all, both hands trying to hold it this time.]

It's not insisting if it's just asking, is it?

[The water slips through her fingers as if it had never been there at all, leaving only faint traces of salt on her fingertips.

You are a child of the ocean, and yet you walk on land.]

I'm— . . .

[Something dark passes over her expression, and she moves her hands back up to hold her robes around her.]

I'm from Pavo. We don't have an ocean.

[The tide retreats, leaving the sand dark and moist.

Distance is irrelevant.]

[Watches it . . . and gets up, coming closer and crouching down at the water's edge again.]

Are you lonely?

[The tips of her toes brush the water, but the waves stay back, as if hesitant.

Also irrelevant.]

[Holds her hands out, as if she were beckoning a shy kanat.]

It's okay. I won't hurt you.

[The water doesn't seem to respond, its rhythm undisturbed.

What is it you want, child?]

I don't.

Something needed me here, so I came. But I don't know where it is now.

[The waves crash against the rocks further up the beach.

So you search for something.]

I don't know. It's different than something that needs to be fixed.

[Scoots closer still, water covering her ankles, and peers at the surf.]

[It yields no answers, but for the voice that speaks to a sense altogether separate from her others.

You would presume to fix things you don't understand?]

[Her eyes drift half closed, fingers spreading out in the water.]

What do you need?

[Further up the beach, the waves retreat. The water here remains relatively calm.

There is nothing that I need, child.]

[Looks at the water, looks at the water . . .

Takes a breath and ducks her head under the water.]

[... Really?

The tide surges forward abruptly, attempting to push her over and unsubmerge her head.]

[There's a surprised, protesting sound (physically, bubbles escaping her, and every, ever so faintly, an echo of a mental cry), and she tumbles back, landing and sitting with a splash.]

[The tide retreats as soon as she rights herself.

You cannot breathe water, child. Is it...amused? Surely not.]

I wasn't trying to.

[Doesn't so much right herself as just shift to pull her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.]

[The water laps at her toes, gentle. Then?]