C Y R E N E

TAKE THIS SINKING BOAT
and point it home

· · ·

It was not as if she was afraid of the ocean—no, Cyrene was quite a fearless creature. Yet, she could not deny that seeing it as it was, a massive, swirling mass of abyssal darkness, elicited an inexplicable rustling of nerves deep in the pits of her stomach. Perhaps it was simply an aversion that all things with feathers shared. Dragged fifty leagues under, the ravenous waves robbing sleek wings of all their empyrean grace, their prided motility—her own stark plumes quavered at the horrifying thought.

A derisive smile tugged mercilessly at the corners of the wood nymph’s lips. They have nothing to fear now, do they; my wings lose nothing in the water they are not already deprived of. As if in silent protest, crimson eagle feathers spread themselves mightily against the cerulean sky. A cascade of scintillating light shimmered upon the barren sand, as the sun's rays streamed through the golden scars in bleak imitation of a cathedral’s mosaic glass. A seabird—an osprey, from its mottled walnut wings—blew past her as it soared towards the beckoning sea, its earsplitting caw a jeering taunt. Slowly, shamefully, sangria feathers folded themselves back against her sides. Where they ought to stay.

The briny smell of rotting seaweed was what finally collected the girl’s scattered thoughts in order again, as Cyrene’s amber eyes sharpened to skim lightly across the patchwork beach. She had timed her arrival to be precisely at low tide, where the roaring waves reluctantly exposed the soft shores below to her searching gaze. Clumps of soggy vegetation littered the sand like slow growing moss, and with methodical focus, Cyrene selected the freshest of the lot to place gingerly inside a sealed glass jar. Supposedly, pickled seaweed was touted for its role in potions that soothed seasickness—a revelation the young healer had thought ironic when the crotchety Terrastellan sage had first spoken of it. A smack on the wrist and a startling rise in demand for such tonics later, and the autumn girl had set off rather sourly that morning for the Terminus.

She had thought herself alone in her early morning endeavor along the crumbling cliffside—yet as the girl ambled along the shore, a breath of surprise filled her lungs as the world sought to prove her wrong. For there—where white sand met undulating blue—stood another, a sea-drenched figure clad in satin starlight and lacquered onyx. Smooth amber eyes widened in disbelief as the stranger rushed like a tempest into the water’s frigid embrace. Is he not cold?

Featherlight steps quickened as they carried her swiftly across the glistening sands; she was a cat with nine lives more to chase the coattails of curiosity with. As she neared, hesitation clouded her limbs as nimble hooves lingered along the edge of the frothing waves. If it was only her legs… it would be alright. Slowly, steadily, Cyrene picked her way towards the boy with midnight draped like a celestial caress across his avian bones.

"Are you a child of the sea?” An utterly strange question—but it had pressed most feverishly at her tongue, and she could not keep it from tumbling out. "I… apologize for disturbing,” she added in quick succession, a sorry attempt at fixing her bungled introduction. "Yet for a moment, I thought you a siren washed ashore. It was too tantalizing an encounter to ignore.”

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