Mint green sea-foam licks at his heels and sticks to them.
He doesn’t know that once, years before, it had stuck to Lanai, too, when she threw herself into the sea to say goodbye. That was the day that it happened, that they threw everything that was to be(Wax and Wane and their entire existence), out into the cosmos; built them into reality out of fleeting moments with raw intentions.
Maybe something similar would happen to him.
The roar of the sea is deafening, but he’s always preferred it. The wax and wane of the tide (the very ones he is named for) brought forward something primal and raw in him, sent something ancient rooting through his veins. He stands before it now, and that feeling (that heavy, sinking feeling), it drags down his spine hitting every vertebrae on its way, leaves them tingling, reeling from the impact.
It feels like home.
And he’s missed home.
He would never say it aloud. He’s too much like his father in that regard - all stone walls and sharp edges. But the casual lines of his body (one heel cocked, and a flippant shrug to his shoulders as he wades in the tide) betray him, and when he turns his face against the ocean wind he tastes the salt on his tongue as he does so.
It isn’t exactly home, but it would do.