[open] throw everything i own into the fire.

[Toska]

your bones hum my name the way gregorian monks sing of god. i wonder if they’ve always known me—if every cell in your body has just been waiting for me to come home.
There is nothing remarkable about Toska or his past up to this point. As he crosses into the forest, he vaguely recalls being here in his adolescence, but he’s long forgotten his mother’s face. Really, he only held on to her stern words each time she bestowed upon him her seemingly infinite wisdom. But he’s not one to dwell on such blurred memories and so he continues on is journey through this world. The glimmering boy has always preferred to live in the present rather than fighting himself over what he should or should not have done yesterday. All that matters to him is the smell of rain drifting in with the greying clouds above him.

He pauses to glance up, but the midday sky does not seem prepared to drench him just yet. Toska shrugs his broad pale shoulders before continuing further into this alien-yet-familiar region. There are strangers in the distance, or perhaps they are friends from before his departure from his homeland. The question does not inspire any sense of obligation in him and so he does not approach anyone just yet. Instead, he drinks from the creek and rests his tired legs for a short while. The heat has not been so oppressive as to tire him, but his muscles grow weary of all this constant movement. And besides, he believes it is vital to stop and enjoy one’s surroundings from time to time.

After shifting his weight and listening to the murmur of distant conversations, he wonders what his voice might sound like after all this time. Will it croak and rasp like the frogs in the creek before him? Could it be as dry and coarse as the deserts he’s crossed? It could be just the same as it’s always been, warm and comforting like the smell of burning leaves on an autumn night. Toska clears his throat and gives a short ‘hm’ to test his voice. Like this forest, the memory of his voice is hazy but he supposes it will do just fine.

TOSKA
i tell them i am here now. i let my bones sing with your bones.
we are the kind of harmonies that make the moon rise, at night.
we are the reason the tide comes in.