[P] errant

[Nicnevin]

YOU ARE LIKE A CLOUD SEEN BETWEEN BRANCHES
in your eyes the laughter and strangeness of a sky that is not yours.

One out of approximately a million discoveries I’ve made since I arrived in Novus: I am fascinated by the ocean.

I know a bit more about it, now, which only makes me all the more certain that I know nothing about it at all. I have learned that the white, grain-stuff that borders the ocean is called sand and that the border itself is called a beach, and I have discovered that the ocean is made up of water, albeit a particularly salty variety of water, one that isn’t at all good to drink or bathe in. That doesn’t prevent other creatures from living within it, I assume, but I am not at all sure of the type. I assume that the ocean has fish. If there are fish in other sources of water, no matter how bizarre saltwater is, it probably has fish, or something fish-like. Maybe something frog-like, too, or turtle-like, or snake-like. There are only so many creatures that could possibly be built to live in the water, or so I tell myself.

I keep thinking that I know something, and then being proven completely wrong. But: I’m not so sure that it’s a bad thing. It is far too exciting to injure my pride.

I am still not particularly good at flying in beach winds, so, when I catch sight of the cliffs in the distance, I drop down to the ground, landing unsteadily on mossy rocks and tufty grasses. The land is so uneven here, so unstable, so slippery and wet; it is enchanting to look at, particularly from above, but I wonder if I won’t break a leg if I don’t get better at landing on it. I can already smell the ocean. I know that the smell of it is salt, at least in part, but it doesn’t smell like salt, and I’ve spent time in my fair share of kitchens, over the years; salt doesn’t smell so wild. I take a deep breath of it, and, unlike the first time, I appreciate the way it burns my lungs a bit on the way down.

It’s much more tolerable without a mouthful of sea water, anyways.

I pace back and forth along the cliff’s-edge, until I find one of the stairways down to the beach. It is slick with saltwater and rain; water clings to the cliffside, pooling in mossy crevices and dribbling from the dark edges of stones. I make my descent slowly – carefully, for the most part. Once I’m down to the last thirty steps or so, I cannot curb my enthusiasm, and I break into bounds, clearing several steps at a time.

I am nearly at the ground when I lose my balance. The world spins, and I nearly come crashing down with it, but I stretch out my wings at the very last minute and manage to avoid falling face-down in the sand. That certainly wouldn’t be pleasant. It looks gritty, and it would sting my eyes, and I’m sure that I would never be able to get it out of my mane – which is already looking wildly unkempt and salt-strung from the ocean winds. I stumble the last few steps awkwardly, and I come to an unsteady halt on the beach.

I am not entirely sure why I was so eager to do that. Knight-voice-in-my-head tells me that I could have broken a bone or two, but I try to ignore it.

For some reason, the water is not as close to the shore as it was when I was here last. Perhaps it is just because I’m at a different place on the shoreline, but the water seems very far away – miles out, even. It certainly wasn’t so far away last time.

Still. I am most curious about the water, so I start across the beach; at first, I am dissuaded slightly by my narrowly-avoided tumble only moments prior, but I soon break into a run. It feels awkward. I’m barely used to walking on sand, much less running on it, and it skids and kicks under my hooves in a way that feels very wrong. The wind feels amazing, however, as it riddles and streams through my feathers and my mane, and I can’t help but grin – and laugh, very softly, then louder, then exuberantly. I have been many things, but it is important to enjoy being a creature that can feel happy enough for laughter.

Something catches my eye before I can reach the water. Something…protrudes from the sand.

I come to a slow halt several feet away from it, cocking my head at the thing sticking out of the sand. It is pale, and it reminds me of a stone, but it spirals like the horns I’ve seen on some unicorns. I trot closer. It seems to be buried, very slightly, in the sand, and I frown at it, dipping my head to get a better look.

I am still growing accustomed to the telekinetic magic of this world; in my homeland, it was much easier to do. I lower my nose until it is very nearly touching the sand, focusing my stare on the strange, spiraled stone-thing, and I think at it. I think at it very, very hard, and I try to imagine it suspended in the air above the sand, hovering just a few inches up.

The stone-thing wriggles free of the sand, and I manage to hold it up – only to discover, with some mixture of shock and horror that sends me stumbling back an inch or two, that the stone possesses legs. Lots of them. Stubby little legs, which are currently flailing helplessly. I try to put it down gently, nearly drop it in the process, and barely succeed on my second try.

The little creature wobbles a bit. I see two, stalk-like black eyes slowly protrude from the shell; they remind me, somehow, of a snail. (I wonder if this is a sea-snail…but snails don’t have legs, or eyes like this.) I stare at it, and it stares back, utterly perplexed…

And it snaps one of its legs at me, which is not exactly a leg – it has a grip like a vice. I stumble back, sending up a cloud of sand in my wake, and glower at it, very slightly.

I’m not sure that it can understand me – when I was a firefly, I couldn’t understand anything but the bright blips and scents and sounds of my own kind – but I try to look appropriately apologetic. “I apologize. I did not intend to disturb you.”

It snaps its leg at me again.

---

@Elena || hermit crab: 1 nic: 0 | "nocturne," cesare pavese

"Speech!" 

@