He is a wave in the blue grey ocean, rolling steadily but swiftly toward the shore. So much like the water he looks that his movement does not catch the attention of her silver eyes until he is almost at the beach. Until he is pulling himself from the water and Samaira watches it sluice from him, darkening the sand beneath where he stands. The beach is quiet but for the consistent roar of the waves in front of them and the piercing cry of the gulls above them and they are alone.
She cannot help but to watch him as he walks, for how could she possibly look elsewhere? He walks like he owns the ground he touches and the pegasus finds herself wondering more and more if, at the least, he is not a monarch of the sea. Her knowledge of the world is limited to what books her parents had managed to save before she was born, some quite old with worn spines and dog-eared pages. Others were filled with diagrams and illustrations, others only words, but Samaira remembers some books more fondly than others.
Such as a book that spoke of sirens of the sea, predators who roamed the ocean searching for unsuspecting prey. She remembers the drawings, of creatures with strange, elongated mouths filled with sharp teeth and gaunt, misshapen equine-like bodies. Some, even, had been drawn with tails that resembled that of fish. So when Samaira looks at this man who swims the ocean like it is home, she thinks of that book and she thinks that just because she had never seen the ocean before arriving in this world hadn’t meant it wasn’t real. He speaks to her and her dark lashes flutter over her silver eyes.
“It is,” she says simply, voice velvety and low with its own strange accent to pair alongside his, “It is a wonder.” Samaira wonders what it must look like in the light of sun, shining and deep and blue. She wants to know how far the horizon reaches and what is just beyond her line of sight waiting to be discovered and oh, one day she will know. One day she will discover it for herself. “Books do your kind no justice,” an assumption, and she watches him and wonders if her assumption is correct. She can’t tell if the smell of salt filling her senses is the ocean or his skin.
“They paint beasts,” but she has seen beasts, been face to face with them. Chased by them. Hunted. She has looked a beast in the eyes and watched him condemn her to death and escaped. There is still that all too familiar twinge in her heart as she thinks of him, but she has to remind herself that he cannot touch her here. Beasts... “but you do not look like a beast.” And perhaps that is her problem, that beasts are too easily hidden in the skin of men. Her lashes flutter again, her feathers ruffling in a cool breeze, as he glances back out at the water.
She cannot help but to watch him as he walks, for how could she possibly look elsewhere? He walks like he owns the ground he touches and the pegasus finds herself wondering more and more if, at the least, he is not a monarch of the sea. Her knowledge of the world is limited to what books her parents had managed to save before she was born, some quite old with worn spines and dog-eared pages. Others were filled with diagrams and illustrations, others only words, but Samaira remembers some books more fondly than others.
Such as a book that spoke of sirens of the sea, predators who roamed the ocean searching for unsuspecting prey. She remembers the drawings, of creatures with strange, elongated mouths filled with sharp teeth and gaunt, misshapen equine-like bodies. Some, even, had been drawn with tails that resembled that of fish. So when Samaira looks at this man who swims the ocean like it is home, she thinks of that book and she thinks that just because she had never seen the ocean before arriving in this world hadn’t meant it wasn’t real. He speaks to her and her dark lashes flutter over her silver eyes.
“It is,” she says simply, voice velvety and low with its own strange accent to pair alongside his, “It is a wonder.” Samaira wonders what it must look like in the light of sun, shining and deep and blue. She wants to know how far the horizon reaches and what is just beyond her line of sight waiting to be discovered and oh, one day she will know. One day she will discover it for herself. “Books do your kind no justice,” an assumption, and she watches him and wonders if her assumption is correct. She can’t tell if the smell of salt filling her senses is the ocean or his skin.
“They paint beasts,” but she has seen beasts, been face to face with them. Chased by them. Hunted. She has looked a beast in the eyes and watched him condemn her to death and escaped. There is still that all too familiar twinge in her heart as she thinks of him, but she has to remind herself that he cannot touch her here. Beasts... “but you do not look like a beast.” And perhaps that is her problem, that beasts are too easily hidden in the skin of men. Her lashes flutter again, her feathers ruffling in a cool breeze, as he glances back out at the water.
@Amaroq
![[Image: 13481303_KpOIcOG7drxHK9U.png?1556314753]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13481303_KpOIcOG7drxHK9U.png?1556314753)
we'll fulfill our dreams
and we'll be free
