I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone
or else alone
Back and back and back. He smiles, hearing that; there is something comforting about that line of ancestors, an unbroken chain who, for all their failures or victories, their rising and falling, succeeded in one thing at least. They carried on. Asterion wears a few of his mother’s stars, and the rich-earth color of his grandfather’s coat, and that is only the beginning. Back and back -
“Oh, the water shouts too,” he says, and thinks of the tumble and laugh of whitewater, or the thrash of waves, or the thunder as they pummeled the cliffside, patient enough to eat the rock away. “And I can’t imagine it’s frightened by anything.” Least of all himself, or any man.
But it is hard to think of the sea, or how small he is before it, as the palomino continues. His dark lips twitch into a smile that only grows broader as she speaks, until she says you snack and he laughs out loud. “I look forward to it,” he says, and means it.
They are not there for stories only, though he thinks he would spend an evening (a night, even, until tomorrow, or tomorrow’s tomorrow) turning from topic to topic with her as quickly and seamlessly as a school of fish turning. When the dolphins appear - the true ones - his sigh is laden with gratitude. It is followed, quickly, by a grin at her reaction, though he does not turn to look, this time. His focus remains on the saltwater creatures, on making them live, and even when she leans against him he only blinks in a moment of surprise. Oh, he thinks, how nice it is, to touch in a way that is not asking or expecting anything. This is what he would miss, if he were ever truly alone.
It isn’t until she pushes away, apologizing, that he looks at her and, for a moment, the dolphins he made fall back to foam. “Don’t be,” he says, but it is, perhaps, lost in the sound of the surf.
Eventually the dolphins go, as all things must. Eventually they are alone again, and when she touches his shoulder Asterion wishes it was something he could tuck away, and take out again in moments of need.
Any sadness in his smile is hidden by the reflection of the sunlight off the water when she offers him a tour of what had been his own court. “I will,” he promises. “Thank you, Elena. For letting me share the beach with you.”
When she is gone, he remains in the ocean for a long time, but the dolphins do not return.
@
Asterion.
