He had seen her first when he had turned his against the wind and tasted salt; in the beginning nothing but a mark of black against the sand and sea, steadily growing larger and louder with every breath that he drew. As she draws closer he notices that the white dapples on her skin make it look almost as if the tide is reaching up and pulling her into it, instead of just rolling in to bite at her ankles as she races in and out with the waves.
If he were more intelligent and less obtuse he might make himself smaller, he might make himself look as though he is at least a sliver apologetic - he had, after all, come upon the region in search of the sea without even the hint of invitation, verbal or otherwise. He doesn’t though, only watches with vague interest until she is nearly upon him. Wane, every bit his father’s son, was not the type to stop and wonder about borders or cordiality. He went where he wanted, when he wanted. He is more likely to follow a whim than he ever is to follow a leader.
“Hi. I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” she says when she draws near, and he wonders when he notes the rattle to her breath and the faint glimmer of sweat on her skin, if they reveal her fervor for the ocean or running itself. When she introduces herself he’s grateful for the shortened version - had tasted the longer one silently on his tongue as she drew out the syllables. He knew he’d make a mess of it aloud.
“Hey,” he says, still casual despite the bluntness of his trespassing.
“Wane. Which is already short enough, I guess.” He offers his nose in greeting, because he’s not entirely a wild animal.
“Where am I?”
He asks her then, the lines of his body still flippant. This world was not the one that Texas and Lanai had left when they’d gone, hand-in-metaphorical-hand, off into the sunset and beyond the horizon. He doesn’t know exactly what had happened to the Falls (his father’s only other true obsession beyond the curve of women’s hips), only that they’re gone; permanently, and irreparably, gone.
Maybe she would know.
@Agnieszka