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 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.]

I thought . . . it was the ocean. But you're something else.

[Perhaps it is one and the same?]

[Spreads her hand out under the water, feeling the currents as the waves roll higher over her thighs.]

No. The ocean's voice is different.

[Any open wounds she has sting with the salt as the waves roll back out.

Sing it, as you heard it.]

[Open wounds? No. She's always healed fast.]

I don't . . . really sing. Just listen.

[Then tonight can be a night for discovering new things.]

[Her hand closes uselessly over the water as it withdraws again.

Pulling her hand back and wrapping it back around her legs, she shakes her head, silent.]

[The tide is silent in response.

You wished for me to reveal myself, when you fear something as simple as a song?]

[Doesn't answer that either, staying silent and still on the wet sand.]

[The waves rise up around her, gentle, the water reaching up to her tiny waist...comforting, almost.]

[They're cold and she's cold, but she sinks down further anyway, letting the water wrap around a bit more of her.]

[... What is it you want at this moment, child?]