He isn’t disappointed when the snap is closely followed by a voice. It is as sharp as the shards of shell surely are beneath her feet, and it pierces the quieting night. Sabrael can’t see her at first. The jungle is dense and its’ shadow heavy; even after the sun has fallen, it seems to block out whatever light tries to filter through. He thinks about waiting her out, waiting to see if she’ll move out further onto the sandy stretch and let the stars make them acquaintances. But his youth (or the simmering nature of the beast beneath his skin) makes him impatient.
He takes a step just as she does; they nearly meet in the middle.
“Perhaps I’m strategizing, planning inventive ways to both defend and attack our shores, should the need arise.” His voice has always been smooth and low, but he drops it further for effect. “Maybe I meet with the King of the Sea this time every evening, make alliances with the starfish tribes and the whale kingdoms.” The salt breeze rises then, rattles the palms until they are shushing above their heads. The waves crash endlessly behind him, a continuous reminder that they are, indeed, stranded until the next low tide. It is an ominous scene that seems to play along with his words. Every night, his thoughts always grow darker with each passing hour. He doesn’t stop now to wonder if she might be too fragile, too young for such stories. “Maybe surviving the death of the sun each night makes me feel more alive, invincible.” The intensity of his fire-gold gaze doesn’t waver under the gaze of the moon.
He does start to grin, though.
“Or perhaps I am as dim-witted as you say and simply enjoy a pretty sunset.” Sabrael rolls his speckled shoulders in a shrug. It doesn’t matter what she believes because he’s not sure what he believes himself. It is good to have company either way, and he won’t scare her off just yet. “Sabrael. You, shell-crusher?” She’s younger than he is but not by much. He thinks he’s seen her around the island before, but never with any parental figures to speak of. Children of the Reckoning he echoes silently, not for the first time. It has taken so much more than their lands – he wonders if the faeries had designed the depths of their losses. He tries not to dwell on it, to ally the girl’s unnamed loss with his own. Now is a time for forging ahead, for surviving and thriving out of spite if nothing else. “Enjoying paradise yet?”
Sabrael