Since entering the sea, he has not returned to the drier parts of Beqanna. He also still has not ventured to Baltia, for he still does not understand what he expects to find. The fallen kingdom acts as a relentless magnet, continuously pulling him toward her, but thus far, he has still managed to cling to the edges of her briny boundaries.

If he is honest with himself though, he is just as hesitant to set foot on land again. He delights in the feel of the cool water slipping over his skin, the way his tentacles move so delicately, and yet so powerfully at the same time. Moreso, he enjoys feeling so connected to his father and brother, both of whom were also aquatically inclined. It’s not that he did not love his mother and sisters, but as they were more Stratosian than Baltian, they simply could not share the same bond as the boys had.

Oh, how fiercely he still misses all of them.

He lazes about in the slow-moving currents, contemplating… well, everything. He doesn’t know what to do next. As he drifts along, the gentle voice of the fairy that had visited him begins to echo in his mind. She had challenged him to try to impact the world he lives in now. He can only assume that she meant Beqanna, since neither Baltia, Stratos, or the Ruins had returned to the world that had birthed them.

That seems to rule out the idea of venturing to Baltia, at least until he figures out how to fulfill the requirements of his quest. But he hasn’t seen many others here in the depths, so he takes that to mean that he must return to land. He sighs quietly to himself and vows that he will not let so much time pass before he returns to the water again.

He reluctantly begins the ascent. It does not escape him as the water’s temperature rises correspondingly, nor that his slitted pupils narrow as the sunlight more easily permeates the darkness. It is not quite a sense of dread that also rises with him, but there is certainly some anxiety that prickles his skin.

Eventually, his head breaks the surface, and his gills quickly adapt to breathing in the oxygen-rich air as he begins propelling himself toward the shore. When the water becomes too shallow to go further, he pauses to gather himself, to close his eyes and focus on returning to his wholly equine form. When the transformation is complete, he opens his eyes and pulls his tall, lanky body into a standing position in what can only be described as an ungainly fashion. He really is far more awkward on land than in the water and he is painfully aware of it as he strides to the shore.

Unsure of himself, he stands there, staring through the stringy, dripping forelock falling over his bright blue eyes.

Though his forelock does not obscure his vision, it is a blank stare that peeks from beneath the yellowed curtain of hair. In the time it takes to fully step onto the dry land, memories of happier days have begun to dance vividly in his mind and he can’t help but lose himself in them. From the hours spent chasing his brother through the tall summer grasses, to the splashes of laughter ringing through the air as they explored their aquatic sides with their father. Even the constant bickering that occurred once his sisters arrived on the scene. What he wouldn’t give to fight with one of them right now.

A peculiar, almost grating sound disrupts the rapid-fire flashbacks and his eyes slowly begin to refocus on what actually lies before him. A quick scan of his surroundings reveals the red mare nearby, looking as though she has received the fright of her life. At first, he cannot fathom what might cause such alarm and he tenses, expecting some dangerous creature to make itself known. Then, it dawns on him.

It’s him.

She confirms this idea after tossing an unexpected apology at him and he smiles rather sheepishly at her. He takes a moment to shake off some of the water that still streams down his side in shrinking rivulets, then he mimics her hesitant step forward. The spiraling smattering of stars on her chest draws his attention and holds it for perhaps a minute too long, but the pattern is quite mesmerizing, especially for one that is both forbidden and unable to spend time among the stars.

Well, was forbidden. He supposes that it wouldn’t matter now, if he were able to fly instead of swim. His eyes eventually move to her face, to her widened eyes and he notices that something is not quite right. He can’t quite place the difference, so he decides to ignore it for now. “To be fair, I don’t really live there. I was just out for a swim.” As his smile broadens, it also becomes more crooked, and it reaches up to his ice-blue eyes.

“I’m Eddie...” It is on the tip of his tongue to ask if she is from Beqanna, but he unexpectedly realizes that there is an unnatural smoothness to her skin. Unable to stop himself, he instead asks (somewhat rudely), “What are you made of?”

A flush of embarrassment warms his cheeks when she mentions her mother’s galaxy markings; the heat spreads further as he realizes that he is behaving no better than an uninhibited child in this moment, staring unabashedly at the swirl of stars on her chest. His mortification creeps into the odd slant of his smile and he is grateful that she does not comment on his gawking. When she speaks of her appreciation for the inheritance of her mother’s entrancing stars, a dull sadness dims the light of his eyes, perhaps for longer than he would like.

His feet shuffle quietly and he relishes the gentle way the feathers of his forelegs wave in the currents of air the movements create. They, along with the striking blue of his eyes and his slight build, are the small ways that his mother’s appearance has manifested in his own and he, too, is grateful for the reminders, though for different reasons. He is of a mind to share this with this stranger, but he ultimately refrains; he knows his melancholy can be overwhelming for some and he does not wish to scare her off just yet.

But perhaps it is inevitable that he must reveal something of his past, for she inquires about his affinity for the ocean. He does his best to arrange his features into a contemplative mask to disguise the new bout of sadness inspired by the idea that he belongs to the water. He nods, almost absently, at her question. “I haven’t been in for a very long time now.. too long, actually.” He pauses, realizing now that part of his long-standing discomfort has been due to his avoiding the water and his Baltian blood, once returned to its natural surroundings, had been behind his reluctance to resurface.

Eventually, he continues, “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing it, so I guess I’ll have to be better about sharing my time between land and sea.” In that moment, he knows that he will certainly be more diligent about balancing the conflicting needs of his mixed heritages.

The warmth of embarrassment returns to his face immediately after he blurts out his somewhat crass question and any traces of cheerfulness slip from his features just as abruptly. “I’m sorry if that was rude,” he apologizes profusely, not quite wanting to meet her eye now. But as he averts his gaze, he notices the smile that she gives with her answer and that encourages him to look at her again just as she offers her name to him.

The corners of his lips turn up once more as he lets the feel of her name roll over his tongue. “Hourglass.. that’s pretty.” His voice is soft, shy, as he says this, but it quickly turns both stiff and hurried, as though in attempt to gloss over the compliment. “I’ve never…”

He is on the verge of saying that he’s never met anyone made of glass before, but the memory of his first encounter in Beqanna stops him in his tracks. He had nearly forgotten the entire experience, for it had soured rather quickly, but now he remembers that she had also been of a similarly glassy make; and the longer he thinks of her, he also remembers the stars that decorated her petite figure.

He casts a suspicious eye over Hourglass, wondering if it is possible that the two women are related. If that’s the case, he’s not so sure that he wants to find out just how similar the two really are. But he swallows down the bitter distrust and continues, “Does the glass come from your mother too? It’s not something I’ve seen much of around here..”