the sky has never looked so clear; any

[Warrick]

like the sun swallowed up by the earth

She turns away from him with a smile, and he cannot help but notice the way her shoulders relax slightly now that they have decided to continue their conversation within the dark, crinkled water of Tephra’s ocean. He falls into step beside her, the rippling waves lapping against the navy blue of his legs as he enters the warm, tropical waters. He doesn’t remember the last time he swam, and the excitement begins to billow in his chest as they move out farther into the depths. The ocean is calm and inviting this night; a perfect mirror-like reflection of their shadows as well as the luminous starlight and nearly full moon above them. His chest pushes through the water, soft waves leaving his body as he allows it to absorb into his feathered wings, flexing the thin bone gently so that tiny droplets of sea and salt sparkle on the soft, cobalt color. He snorts gently, the current of the ocean light and tender against his legs, the soft push and pull lulling him into relaxation.

“What is it like — flying?”

Cerulean eyes flash to meet hers, a knowing smile pulling at the darkness of his indigo lips. He glances to the now-folded wings that sit carefully in the ocean’s water, ruffling the feathers slightly as he studies them thoughtfully. “It’s hard to describe - the feeling of it, you know?” His voice is quiet, whimsical, as if lost in a dream within a dream. “It feels like...like freedom.” At the word freedom his gaze moves to find hers once again, a certain seriousness on his face that would let his friend know that he means exactly what he says.

Being able to soar up into the sky, with broad and powerful wings that carry him through clouds and sun, and most importantly, to his stars - his wings meant the world to him.

“It’s terribly difficult, yes. I wasn’t born with them, which made it all the more trying.” he continues, “But I think the faeries knew the deepest desires of my heart, and gifted me in only way they knew how.” Warrick tosses his head, his thick forelock falling over the side of his face to veil one of his curious blue eyes, while the other remains focused on Wound. He wonders if she would press him and ask him more; that his explanation wouldn’t suit her for an answer and she’d pry into the curiousness of the way he spoke - and he hopes she will.

He watches her for a moment, and though he cannot see exactly what causes her unnatural gait (or her endearing shyness), he glances down into the water as if trying to see something beneath its surface. “You have a story,” he states, not as a question, and his eyes flicker back to her. “And I am a brilliant listener.” Warrick pauses, empathy etched on his kind blue eyes and in the way the corners of his mouth dim ever so slightly. “Would you tell me your story?”

Warrick

@[wound]