10-22-2016, 07:06 PM
This world is not hers, and so she cannot love it. Everything about it is wrong- large, she can find no end to it when she turns her back to the roiling black of the ocean. Home had been smaller, a slab of rock and soil sailing lost in the endless sea. The mountains are wrong too, the shadow of them would have dwarfed everything, eternal night. Even the trees and their forests, the meadows and especially the horses within feel out of place. It was only as night fell that she found some sameness, some familiarity when they dark blurred out and swallowed the landmarks, when the stars blinked into existence one by one against the black velvet sky.
Her chest loosened a little, the tension in her muscles softening in the wake of the cold silver light. It had only been a day, already been a day, and she had not found the will to tear herself from the beaches she had washed up along. It was as if some part of her hoped the storm would come again, would pluck her from this uneasy unknown and let her wake safely within the stone of the bay at home.
Home.
She slips away from where Peat rests, not so far that she will lose him in the dark, but far enough that he will not notice, or wonder, when she slips back into the ocean. Once, she had loved the way the water felt against her skin, warm and weightless, like freedom. But it feels different now because she knows its heart, and she no longer mistakes that threat of power, that brewing dark, for anything other than what it is. Still, she slips in further, further, until the water is above her chest and she can feel its weight against the pounding of her wild heart.
For a moment she closes her eyes, but that is a mistake because suddenly she is back beneath the surface, watching pale bodies bob past in the swirling currents. Her eyes flash open again, a shock a pale sea-green in shadow against the silver of her pale face, and she swallows the gasp that climbs from her throat to her lips. A part of her wills her back to the bright and white sediment of the beach, to the safety of the shore, but she cannot.
Out here, it feels like floating in night, with dark and stars above, and dark and stars below – and she, at its heart, the pale and lonely moon. Out here, it feels like home again. She is not lost, she is not broken inside. But then someone splashes past her and it is reflexive how she shies away from the sudden, unwelcomed closeness. Her eyes follow him to the shore, wary, though she did wonder for a second at his smooth paleness, if maybe she knew him like she knew Peat. But when she draws closer, close enough to trace those starlit silver lines on his pale face, she recognizes only one more stranger in an already strange world. With one delicate ear flicked in the direction of Peat where he rests silently further down the beach, entombed in the night, she takes another cautious step closer to the stallion. The waves reach only her knees now and she pauses, suddenly startled by the way he glows in the night. It is not like how she glows, a smudge of pale light, blurry and bright in the moon and stars, it is more like of the stars themselves.
She recoils just a little, frightened by something she has only ever known to be impossible. Something that, despite being impossible, now stares back at her through the cold dark. Her brow furrows and her eyes flash warily as she watches him, waiting for that glow to fade. But it doesn’t. “I don’t understand.” She tells him finally, softly, and to her credit, in a voice that does not shake. “Are you glowing?” Her tone rises just a little at the end, a reflection of the uncertainty she feels brewing in her quiet chest. And then, softer now, wistful - “you look like you belong in the sky.”
Her chest loosened a little, the tension in her muscles softening in the wake of the cold silver light. It had only been a day, already been a day, and she had not found the will to tear herself from the beaches she had washed up along. It was as if some part of her hoped the storm would come again, would pluck her from this uneasy unknown and let her wake safely within the stone of the bay at home.
Home.
She slips away from where Peat rests, not so far that she will lose him in the dark, but far enough that he will not notice, or wonder, when she slips back into the ocean. Once, she had loved the way the water felt against her skin, warm and weightless, like freedom. But it feels different now because she knows its heart, and she no longer mistakes that threat of power, that brewing dark, for anything other than what it is. Still, she slips in further, further, until the water is above her chest and she can feel its weight against the pounding of her wild heart.
For a moment she closes her eyes, but that is a mistake because suddenly she is back beneath the surface, watching pale bodies bob past in the swirling currents. Her eyes flash open again, a shock a pale sea-green in shadow against the silver of her pale face, and she swallows the gasp that climbs from her throat to her lips. A part of her wills her back to the bright and white sediment of the beach, to the safety of the shore, but she cannot.
Out here, it feels like floating in night, with dark and stars above, and dark and stars below – and she, at its heart, the pale and lonely moon. Out here, it feels like home again. She is not lost, she is not broken inside. But then someone splashes past her and it is reflexive how she shies away from the sudden, unwelcomed closeness. Her eyes follow him to the shore, wary, though she did wonder for a second at his smooth paleness, if maybe she knew him like she knew Peat. But when she draws closer, close enough to trace those starlit silver lines on his pale face, she recognizes only one more stranger in an already strange world. With one delicate ear flicked in the direction of Peat where he rests silently further down the beach, entombed in the night, she takes another cautious step closer to the stallion. The waves reach only her knees now and she pauses, suddenly startled by the way he glows in the night. It is not like how she glows, a smudge of pale light, blurry and bright in the moon and stars, it is more like of the stars themselves.
She recoils just a little, frightened by something she has only ever known to be impossible. Something that, despite being impossible, now stares back at her through the cold dark. Her brow furrows and her eyes flash warily as she watches him, waiting for that glow to fade. But it doesn’t. “I don’t understand.” She tells him finally, softly, and to her credit, in a voice that does not shake. “Are you glowing?” Her tone rises just a little at the end, a reflection of the uncertainty she feels brewing in her quiet chest. And then, softer now, wistful - “you look like you belong in the sky.”