[AW] the ocean holding everything, tossing aside the weary

[Salem]

S A L E M aut viam inveniam aut faciam There's a thousand recorded events of a soul shattering in history, and how it's splintered remains hang by delicate strands in the tumultous aftermath. Countless tomes in lofty libaries beloved by those who carefully tend to their pages and then those in dank cellars, tended to those with wicked eyes and cold hearts. Each detail valiant heroes and wandering vagabonds at the breaking point, the edge of the cliff into the fathomless abyss, the blade bathed in a loved one's blood at dusk or simply it's the ghosting of the wind against their skin. A silence too deep to ponder, a ripple in a vast pond that shatters the perfection like glass. As he watched the pale mare be swallowed by the sea, Salem cannot help but wonder which it is for this one. Stood against the pearly white sand and golden grasses, he is a wraith. A blackened smudge upon a pristine landscape. He has no business stepping foot in a place as vibrant and light as this, not even with the bottomless ocean lapping at the sandy shores. Yet he's hear, inhaling lungfuls of sea air and slitted pupils drinking in the collapse which unfolded on the beach below. To think, he had come here to be contrite, to stand and simply be as he mulled over his own inner questions and hummed to the wind to fill the void of silence. A good horse would turn away, and give the broken mare her peace. Let her lay in her own ruin and let the earthquake in her bones rattle her until there was nothing left to uproot. Unfortunately, Salem isn't that horse. Slowly, he moved, one cloven hoof after the other to carry him onto to the sandy planes where she lay. Something akin to curiousity found itself reflected in his eyes, before it was swallowed once more with his usual nonchalant stare. It's not in his nature to care, not truly. There have been times where he has, where it had been the norm, but that was so very, very long ago. When his soul was a pure thing, unchained and unaltered. He's interested because broken things have history, there are layers to the pain ink and paper cannot fully articulate. No careful artists hand could depict the bottomless gaze of one who has seen everything crumble. How do you get the devil to care? By showing him something he cannot resist. So he drew close, stood by the shaking and rattled frame covered in salt water and sand. Slowly his head lowered, nudging at a champagne shoulder with faux care in an attempt to get her to move. "Come now." He called, deep and melodic, like a song sang in the deep places and the most holy. "You will catch your death if you stay in the sand." @Sikeax have I told you how much I love her because I love her a lot. "this here is your speech colour!