He has not forgotten his fascination with the sea.
There had only been a few brief moments of peace, staring out over the cliffside as the waves leapt and crashed below before the meeting with Reichenbach turned chaotic with bodies, but they’d lingered in the stallion’s mind. As he grew more comfortable in his new location (he couldn’t quite bring himself to call it
home) he’d begun ranging farther afield, but had yet to return to the water, near as it was to Delumine. Today, that would change.
Morozko chooses a different route to the coast, this time, foregoing the rugged cliffs for the more gentle dunes of the beach. Parts of the Dusk Court always carried the sharp-strange scent of salt and that only strengthened as he neared, the scent joined by the gulls’ constant clamor and the endless sigh of the waves on the sand.
It’s a humiliating thing, to stand on the shore with the foam washing over his hooves and know that he has never learned to swim. Even if it hadn’t been necessary in the inland (and constantly frozen) stretch of Heimsterra, it feels like a personal shortcoming.
For the moment he only stands where the sea and land meet, the midday sunlight warm on his back and each wave like a breath cold on his fetlocks. It is hard for the unicorn to picture anyone conquering such a beast as this one, as lovely and formidable as an avalanche-prone slope. Where winter was all potential, still and silent and glittering, this was enchantingly different - rush and noise, tempting and foreboding. Chaos to the control he strove for.
Which is why he is so surprised to see the figure in the waves.
She’s difficult to pick out, at first - mane and tale as pale as sea-foam, body the grey of the water when a cloud passes overhead. And she is
still, not struggling or thrashing. It is her apparent ease, when Morozko’s silver gaze finally finds her, that keeps him from calling to her. From his vantage point, she looks utterly at ease; there is only the turn of her head, the flash of her eyes as she allows herself to drift. He is not entirely surprised to find himself a little jealous - he, who could pick his way through a blizzard with proficiency, but hesitated to walk into the water up to his knees.
Despite his growing curiosity, the pale stallion says nothing, only watching from the shore as the wind tugs at his tail and brings him the scents of salt and brine and stranger things, and each retreating wave drags at the sand beneath his feet as if entreating him to join her.
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Seraphina picked this one instead! your writing is gorgeous. <3
