maybe you were the ocean
In the heavy, autumn rain Khuma could have had him in any way that she had wanted. Wane had been a fool, thinking when he’d approached, a rakish grin crooked there on his mouth, that he’d held the cards — how quickly he had fallen at her feet, though, and all that it had taken was a few delicate bats of her eyes and the gentle swing of her hips. She spun him into her web with pretty, silk lies, and he had thanked her for it and asked for more. And while Wane had always loved women, it was unlike him to let one have him so completely.
“Take me with you, Wane. Keep me forever.”
Of course he had harboured doubts, but there in the rain he had been different somehow. Despite the idea of commitment that left him reeling he had not refused her and these months in Nerine have been trying on them both. If he is honest with himself sometimes she feels like a cage, with cold, iron bars. Sometimes she feels like a noose, like she draws tighter and tighter until he is left suffocating. It isn’t in his bones to be ‘kept’ like this. He isn’t made for it.
And yet...
Now, in so many ways what stands before him is exactly what he’s pined for — this cave cannot be empty when there is freedom nestled there in the vacant cradle that used to house his egg, it cannot be empty when it means his future is now so full of promise, can it? How can he feel lonely when Wax is right here, in the flesh, beside him? He can’t. So why then, does a lingering sense of loss come from nowhere and settle, weighted, on his chest? Why does a pang of remorse burrow in and lay claim to the patch of land beside his heart?
“It didn’t crack. Could it have hatched?”
Wax has always had a way of pulling him back outside himself, and she does it now. Wane shakes his great head and neck and with his nose begins to sift through the trinkets that remain as though he might unearth a giant egg somehow hidden among them. For a moment he wonders if that’s the case, that the egg’s contents have finally shook themselves loose and wandered into Nerine in whatever form that might look like. The thought, however, is one that he quickly releases as he realizes there are no fragments of shell among the the clutter, no disruption to the cradle that Khuma had crafted by hand, or rather, scaled reptilian nose, so many months ago.
“Or maybe someone moved it?”
Of course someone did.
Almost instantly the worry drains from between the furrow in his brows, replaced with something more akin to agitation. That’s exactly what Khuma had done, likely changing her mind on the cave and it’s relative position with the sun, or the moon, or something ridiculous like that. It seemed unnecessary and difficult though, even by her standards, this late in the game. He imagines a giant serpent rolling an egg; implausible, given the lack of hands and the steep, rocky inclines that would take her out of this cave and up to the flats. Khuma is stubborn though — she will have worked out a way.
“Did she roll it?” He ponders aloud, the exasperation lingering between the syllables not well hidden. He takes a moment more to consider it, but decides quickly thereafter to focus his attention on Wax. He would deal with Khuma once he found her.
“In any case, where have you been all these years?”
@[Wax]