[private] Rain grey towns; Gale

[Gale]

Gale run away with me-- lost souls and reverie running wild and running free It is difficult to do with such rust on his skills, but Gale manages to contort his face into a grotesque expression without letting go of his grip on Eyas’ vision. It helps that she knows he is there and allows him to be so, a little bit of reassurance that is not always there when those he watches through are unaware of him. The colors are more vivid and the shapes clearer when he need not focus on keeping his control. Gale lets his sister guide the way, though at the dramatic gusting away of the earth around him, he does flash her an image of himself emphatically mouthing the words “Show off!” The self that he shows her is smaller than she sees him, darker, quieter. But it is smiling, as he is. At least until she begins. His body, left behind, grows unnaturally still. When she finishes – or rather – can go no farther – Gale speak tonelessly. “I always thought I dreamt this one.” His eyes seemed dimmed by what he is about to share. “But now I’m not so sure.” They’re in the Field, and there are sharp movements and cries of pain, long dark tentacles and slicing blades. His vision was a blur of views, some of them likely imagined and hazy, but the red blood and their father’s face reflecting in the terrified eyes around him were as clear as the nose at the end of his face. And he sees that nose from his own blue eyes, leaving his sisters mind just before he shares the vision. Gale shudders, blinks a few times, and rolls his shoulders. He had forgotten that too long in another’s sight can make him dizzy. He reptends it is just the vision-sharing that makes it so, and not the visions themselves. That pretend doesn’t stop the roiling in his belly. “I don’t want to see anymore”, Gale says. “I don’t think I need to. There’s other things I’ve seen, things like that. I know. I know.” He doesn’t know though, and he doesn’t want to. There;s no need for an accurate counting of depraved acts. A quarter of what he’s seen has been enough. He takes a breath though, and another, in and out with the tide. He’s quiet for a long time, just holding Eyas as tightly as he can. She feels very small against him, like a little child, like someone he can protect. Like someone he should. And so he decides he must. “I have an…” he trails off as he pulls away, struggling for the proper words, but soon grows frustrated and calls: “Erne?” At first there is nothing, and then the greyish tip of a broken palm trunk turns about slowly, a waddling and inelegant motion that does not match the fierce intensity in the creature’s eyes as it peers at Eyas. Not a bit of wood after all, but a greyish brown bird with a pale underside and a wickedly curved beak and talons. He looks a little silly head on, but Gale is not thinking of that now. “I can see what he sees.” Gale tells Eyas. “Not all birds though. Just him. We’ve got a bond, him and me.” He’s been my family, Gale doesn’t add, a stop-gap until Eyas has appeared on his island. “What if he keeps an eye out for Dad?” Gale asks, reaching out to brush the tear beneath her eye. She is soft, and he is very careful. “He will look out,” Gale says, pressing his cheek against hers, doing his best to be soothing despite the tremble in his own voice. “And I will show you what this ocean looks like from down beneath the waves.” @[Eyas]