She might have shattered had she seen him emerge from the depths, shedding that dolphin-smooth skin as he went. All those fractured, broken pieces she holds together coming undone at the seams, falling away to leave something jagged and unfamiliar behind. But she doesn’t look for them as hard as she used to, no longer watches the ripples for a grey-eyed man like a shadow of waiting dark beneath the surface. Doesn’t search the deepest parts of the forest for her bone-faced man, her Dovev. So she misses it, misses the boy who is certainly no longer a boy but a man much like his father, until he turns and speaks and she lifts those quiet dark eyes to a face far more beautiful than is fair.
But even that is missed for now.
“It’s just me.” She tells him after of beat of somber quiet (like she knows him, like it means something), searching his face for a moment and recognizing none of his father in him. It's better that way, isn't it. Though, the curled tangles of his mane against his neck, dried coiling and uneven after his swim give her pause. She knows even without the stink of the ocean on him that he is a swimmer. She’s still quiet when she blinks those dark eyes, turns from him to look out across the water with a soft furrow appearing in her brow, mostly hidden beneath the blue-black of a thick forelock. “Where did you come from?” Soft again, still not looking at him, not noticing that the gem-bright blues and whites are etched together in smooth, sleek scales instead of fur.
But even that is missed for now.
“It’s just me.” She tells him after of beat of somber quiet (like she knows him, like it means something), searching his face for a moment and recognizing none of his father in him. It's better that way, isn't it. Though, the curled tangles of his mane against his neck, dried coiling and uneven after his swim give her pause. She knows even without the stink of the ocean on him that he is a swimmer. She’s still quiet when she blinks those dark eyes, turns from him to look out across the water with a soft furrow appearing in her brow, mostly hidden beneath the blue-black of a thick forelock. “Where did you come from?” Soft again, still not looking at him, not noticing that the gem-bright blues and whites are etched together in smooth, sleek scales instead of fur.