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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[The tide surges up and over her ankles, the feeling unquestionably real.

If you prefer.]

I don't get to choose.

[Then, does it feel like a dream?]

. . . like something that's going to disappear. Something important.

[How can it be important if you don't know what it is?]

It's a feeling, isn't it?

[Rests her cheek down on her knees.]

[And what would you do to keep it?

It seems dubious...incredulous, even.]

. . . feelings aren't birds to be caged. They come unbidden, and are most precious when they stay because they choose to.

[That's very poetic, for one so small.]

. . . you can let the water come. The moons are calling . . . it shouldn't have to stay away.

I'll go.

[The water moves forward again, lapping at her feet.

You needn't sound so sad.]

Mm! I'll . . . try harder.

[Shifts to get up, a bit unsteady under the weight of those sodden robes.]

[The water before her ripples unnaturally, somehow displeased with that answer.]

I'm sorry.

[Bows a bit, carefully formal and oddly final, and takes a step back before turning to go.]

[The water surges past her feet, up the beach, until it withdraws, sucking her ankles back with it.

Do not apologize to me. And this time, it's the voice's turn to be sad.]

[Stops at the tug, not turning around. Not daring to, when it's so hard to find a smile, when she keeps thinking of . . . of the mountains, and everything so quiet, and cold, hard hands and she locked all this away for so long, why now?]

[The pull of the water is viscerally familiar, the sound it makes as it crashes against the rocks harmonious to the ear, the moonlight soothing in a way sunlight never quite is...

I see. You know not who you are.]

[. . .

There's an echo of the sea's serenity in her as she turns back, the sand under her feet a solid foundation, the saltwater tang of sorrow lingering in her wake.]

I'm me.

[Do you not wonder why the ocean calls to you?]

[Shakes her head, slow.]

I wanted to know why you called to me.

[I did not.

No...you were naturally drawn here.]

I heard something. Like singing.

[It is a hymn for the moon.]

[Closes her eyes, feeling the waves tug at her feet . . . and sinks to her knees in the surf.]

. . . it was beautiful. Like the Chorus.

[Most cannot hear it. Or perhaps choose not to.]