The night before, he did not dream of Isra. Instead, he chased a violet light through a kelp forest. The ocean was a huge, dark, angry thing, heavy around his shoulders, and for the first time it was not a thing he thought of with longing.
He ducked and twisted, escaping slimy hands that grabbed at his legs, until his nose finally met the orb of light. At his touch, it turned into a woman whose face was constantly changing. One moment laughing, the next crying. Without speaking she opened his mind and planted words that he would carry with him that morning, and the next, and likely many many days to come-- perhaps the rest of his life.
"No matter what you do, your hands will always remember the shape of violence."
He closed his eyes in the dream, and opened them in Solterra.
When he walks among his comrades, he knows that he alone is not ready for the coming day, for he drifts among the sea of their thoughts-- never diving deep, of course-- and he feels their intention tighten like a noose. On the other hand, his mind is unfurling in wider and wider circles
(Repetition, always. This time it's the shape of violence, violence, violence.)
as he thinks of Asterion, and Isra, and Moira Tonnerre and Indra and Po and Seree and all the others he's met along the way. He wonders if they, too, are hunting today, and if so-- will they, too, always remember the shape of violence? He prays they stay safe, not because he really believes praying will do a damn thing but because there is a god right there so how could he not try?
The time for thinking, dreaming, loving is coming to a close for now (granted they win). Eik shuts his eyes. He reaches out to Seraphina and Bexley to plant a seed in their minds, a memory of warmth that will endure even when they are surrounded by ice and snow. He would do the same for others if his magic were stronger. Instead he saves what power he has left for the fight ahead.
Beneath the shadow of a pegasus he does not know, Eik lopes toward the fight.
E I K
the mournful beat of the battle drums
Time makes fools of us all
