With pockets full of stones [Jah-Lilah, Canaan, Any]

[Canaan]

Canaan

And maybe, I'll find out a way to make it back someday.
To watch you, to guide you through the darkest of your days.

  He is still, and breathless.

  The water is thick with a heavy, frothing foam, but he does not pay it any mind – nor does he pay any heed to the blinding sunlight, boring into his golden skin, tangling itself in his russet feathers. His gaze, laden with uncertainty and awe, is settled upon the distant horizon, where the sea touches the rim of the wide, open and barren sky – a deep, unwavering cerulean, brighter than the ocean gleam, beckoning him forth from the dangerous cliffside edge he found himself perched upon.

  His captivity had come to an end less than an hour previous, and though he longed to take to the sky, the feathers that line the hollow bone of each broad and expansive wing are still ill-prepared for flight, and so he is grounded – an unfamiliar anxiety stirring within the pit of his belly. He had been released, no longer imprisoned to the tropical shoreline, no longer confined to the salty brine of the sea, nor the splendor of its vegetation, so vivid and bright against the dull, sullen gray of the rocky precipice. And yet, he felt hesitance fill the crevices – a deeply rooted weariness beginning to surface from the deepest and darkest recesses of his mind.

  Time had come and gone, unyielding of the ache in his heart and caring little for what he had left beyond – he had not lost days, but months, an entire year of his life. He had barely known the soft bleat of his newborn children, nor had he even had been able to press a fervent kiss upon the heated brow of his beloved, before it had been all taken away from him, and not at all of his own will.

  He had always been a wanderer, but never had he left the delicate roots he left behind for long. Each and every winter, he had been drawn back to the sulfuric island that his mother had called her own, simply to reassure her that he was breathing, that he was well, wanderlust aside. The conception and birth of his sons had been another tender root lain in the moist and fertile soil of his wayward life, and he never would have kept away, not willingly – nor, once his heart had realized the deep and unwavering adoration he felt for their mother, would he have left his beloved Circinae.

  Alas, the dread has arisen again in the core of his heart – he longed to see each of them again, to know her soft kiss, to see how time had carved into his boys, to see how they had grown – but there is a piece of him, however small, that knew once he had found them, there might be too much damage done.

  There might be nothing for him to find.

  The wind is heavy, swirling around him in a heavy gust, pressing beneath the extent of his outstretched wings – there is a finality in drawn out breath, and a hardened resolve within his amber gaze – he would find them, whatever it took, to whatever consequence his absence may have. As his feathered appendages are drawn tightly to each side, his cheek is turned, directing the heavily muscled structure of his body into the deepest, darkest part of the tropical greenery, towards the mainland, when a distant echo causes him to pause – his heart thundering within the tight confinement of his chest.

  Circinae.

  His gaze, brightened with an indescribable intensity, searches the jagged line of the shoreline, a hesitant step taken towards the churning, roiling sea - could it be?

  And when her voice echoes again, louder (closer!), his powerful legs are set into a forceful stride, sweeping through the brush while the salty ocean breeze weaves through his long, tousled tresses, swept up by the surging urgency in his wildly beating, excited heart. When she emerges from the edge of the horizon, she is the very same soft, downy wolf he had come to know so long ago – the same one he had followed into the dark shadow of the woodland, where he had found her, traveled with her draped in the dark navy of her mane – where he had made love to her, in a time that seemed so very far away.

  ”Circinae!” he breathes, his throat constricted for a moment before he is calling out again, a deep echo of a voice held restrained for too long – rough from disuse, and ragged with emotion, as he is suddenly towering over her, circling her, the broad plane of his nose pressed flush against her, buried in the thick and luscious fur of her canine form.

  ”Circinae, how ..?” He begins, but he cannot bring himself to finish, finding that he did not care – only caring that she had found him (that they had found him, but he cannot yet bring himself to look away from Circinae long enough to notice any other standing near), that he was no longer tethered to the isle that had caused so much heartache. ”I’ve missed you,” he whispered, consumed by all that he wished to say and not knowing where to begin - but finally, his hazel eyes settle upon the curvaceous, lustrous female lingering along the waters' edge, curious and wary at once. "you've come with company?"

If a great wave shall fall and fall upon us all,
then I hope there's someone out there who can bring me back to you.

@[Circinae] @[Jah-Lilah]