He watches the sea, its waves churning menacingly before them. Dark, brooding waters illuminated by the distant gray of clouds above, frothing as the white tips of each wave spreads against the somber shoreline. The ocean pounds methodically, slamming forcefully against the sand: mimicking the weak thrum of his heart in his ribcage. Even the cerulean blue of his eyes seem a bit darker as he looks out at the murky sea. The overcast, dull sky brings a salty chill on the breeze, no doubt winds of winter blowing in from other parts of Beqanna. His skin twitches compulsively and without thought in a shiver, his body damp from the ocean’s spray. Bits of sand and salt has matted his forelock and mane, hanging heavily against his neck and face.
Warrick cannot help it; the weariness he felt was beginning to manifest itself outwardly on his normally stoic features, ebbing away at the hardened lines of his face to reveal his fragility. He still has no answers, no explanation, no resolve…he thought he could find them (part of him still thinks he can) and join them in their starlit dance high above the heavens. It has been nearly a year and his efforts had nothing to show for it. He was still the same as he was a year ago – he was just as lost, confused, angry and hurt as he had been when they first abandoned him on that cold, empty mountain.
In the midst of this, he suddenly feels the weight of her against him. Without thought he leans into her slightly, her feathers like silk against his auburn skin, even when covered with the salt of the ocean’s air. She is almost curling herself into him, but not in a way that was meek or delicate. It was almost as if she was trying to support him, the way the flat of her nose finds itself beneath his chin and lifts him ever so slightly, encouraging him and promising him. She touches him, comforts him with the soft press of her whiskered lips against his face. He allows it. She gingerly moves his heavy forelock from his eyes and he suddenly feels extremely vulnerable. He nearly shies away from her, to toss his head and cover himself from her gaze. He refrains, unable to move away from the warmth of her against him. He continues to stare out towards the sea, and as her clear and solid voice finds his ears, the blue of his eyes slowly shift to look at her.
An anchor.
He has experienced many things, but grief was still new – unfamiliar. He did not know what to do with it or how to manipulate it into strength. He finds himself relying on her, her knowledge and wisdom to guide him. She understands just as he understands. She sees the invisible wounds, still festering and open, with no real mending in sight. He sees it too.
She cannot hide the dimness of her gaze or the slight quiver in her voice. She is not weak (could she ever be?), but she is vulnerable. The sting of loss will bring you to your knees.
Nevertheless, she is stronger than he is.
Her words were soft, delicately laced with experience and knowing – words that were meant to comfort and soothe. They ring with truth and he knows she is right, but it does not bring him any peace. It will be constant, the unrest that he is feeling: always lingering, never fully healing. He exhales, his breath ragged as it leaves the cobalt of his lips. “I have to start over, don’t I?” he asks her simply, though it wasn’t truly a question. He knew the answer. Time heals all wounds and so does letting go.
His family is lost to him. Finding them is impossible. It is a hopeless endeavor. He needs family, loyalty, and love. He needs those who are real and breathing and warm – not those intertwined in starlight. They would always be in his stars, but never with him; not in the way he needs. “I can barely remember them. Their faces, their voices…” he confesses quietly, almost secretly, the edges of his words clipped and factual. Silence engulfs them, only the sound of the crashing waves filling the void.
“Ellyse,” he says her name again desperately, hastily; attempting to cleave to her with only merely words. She is so resilient, so strong. “I will keep my head above the tide,” he decides, his voice unsure. His gaze flickers to her, pressing his lips against the broad of her nose as she rests reassuringly in the crook of his muscular neck. He murmurs into the pale cream of her skin, “You must keep your head, too.”
w a r r i c k
@[Ellyse]