There is a story they tell the young boys of Oresziah of the magic inherent in all women’s souls, and how the sea sings to them; they tell a story of a mother leaving her son to the waves. They say that when she touched the sea she became salt, and dissolved.
Torix has never been one for fables and wives’ tales. But something about it speaks to him as he prowls along the Denocte’s coast, along the cove that reaches inward toward the Arma Mountains. He has studied, quite religiously, the map of Novus’s terrain. He likes this place despite the fact it is all so unfamiliar, despite the sea is so volatile against the jagged rocks of the cliffsides.
Further out, Damascus is flying above the waves. He is hunting; dolphins; whales. The silhouette is massive, and dark, and strange.
Torix is still uncertain what to think of a creature he might have hunted, once. But when the dragon screams out over the sea, the sound feels like his own soul crying out, fracturing. When he closes his eyes, he can fear the wind, the spray of water, the rush.
When he opens them, he is no longer alone.
@Katherine , whoever you want!
