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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[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?]

I was trying to hear you better.

[The amusement is poorly masked, now]

It seems you can hear me just fine, child.

It's all mixed up with the ocean sounds.

I just wanted to hear you.

[It would be so regardless of where I am.]

Then you could come closer, couldn't you?

[Silence for a moment, the waves themselves seeming to hesitate.

... It is better that I not.]

[And that aches, pulls at a place deep as where the moons speak to the sea.]

Would it hurt you?

[Not at this time of night.]

Then why?

[Ignores the goosebumps along her arms, her shivers, and reaches for the water brushing her feet.]

[Because no good comes from such things. Should you not be sleeping, child?]

Aren't I dreaming now?