the cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea; topsail/any

[Seastory]

the cure for anything is salt water: 
sweat, tears or the sea

---

She came because she simply has no where else to go. Her father is long gone. No longer did his scent even tempt the winter breeze. She does not know any of the thin, pale faces that float in the fog of winter.

(it frightens her)

Topsail. She must find Topsail. She is the only one left that she knows. Her only family, though they are almost strangers save the day October had sent the girl-child to the Gates, but it was better than being cold and alone in the large world of Beqanna. So often are snapping jaws, angry eyes and bloody jaws. Seastory can not fathom a life of such and so it drives her onward.

She does not realize that she is in the Valley till the howl of wolves reach her. They are far off but the scent of horseflesh is filling their minds and perhaps their bellies. The bay mare knows it is time to move faster as the sun begins to dip down around the outlining mountains. A chill is sinking into her bones long before her arrival into the center meadow. "Topsail?" Her call is high, lifted by a growing fear. She dared walk into the lion's den, facing what may happen. Was her sister still here? Still alive? This was the last place known of her and so Seastory had to try...what other option did she really have?

---

Seastory

it's short but she's here

[Topsail]

I was in the darkness; so the darkness I became.

She hadn’t thought of her family in a long time.

It was shameful, perhaps…but they were mere memories now. The shadows of the Valley had taken their place in her heart, and that left little room for the goodness that was Mast and Camelia and their slice of Heaven. Both were alive, she thought; she’d heard nothing to the contrary, anyways. Would they even recognize her now? Their once gypsy-eyed girl with a thirst for wandering was now a steel and lace queen of a kingdom with a dark and bloody history. She had felt feral longings in her breast and tasted blood upon her tongue; surely, she was no longer apart of their world.

But as they so often, memories have a way of interjecting themselves into the here and now. Topsail smelled her immediately; the delicate scent of lilac, mingled with the tang of sea salt and brine. The grulla queen raised her head, turning it and her heavily pregnant frame to gaze along the horizon. It was not her mother, not quite. But there was no doubt as to who it was. Picking up an uncomfortable trot, she headed towards the scent, a breath of apprehension creasing her face. She heard the voice on the wind, and she knew immediately who it was. Her half sister, the product of Mast’s loneliness and frustration. “Seastory” she said as she stopped, belly swinging. “What brings you here, to the Valley?” A part of Topsail worried that her sibling brought news of Mast; the other part, the darker part, didn’t care either way.

Topsail

Queen of the Valley