of the wind & the waves & the caves;
The first thing he sees is the fluttering orange of her scarf, waving like a beacon in the breeze coming off the water. Next he watches the bird - an osprey, by the color and shape - drop down from the thermals and circle nearer and lower in a gyre that ends with the kid.
By then they were near enough he could see the determined set of the yearling’s shoulders and the surety in their stride, the outline of the wings tucked to their narrow sides.
“Hey-” Caspian begins, and then stops with an expression of disbelief to watch the stranger strolls on past him. It’s not until she speaks (her tone suggesting that this is her stretch of beach) that he realizes it’s a girl, and he turns to watch her pass, his brow creasing into a furrow.
He hopes he’s only imagining the tiny laughter of a bat somewhere overhead.
“Hey,” he tries again, falling into casual step beside her. In the growing dark he can’t make out her dusting of freckles, only the citrine glint of her eyes and the warning-yellow of her osprey’s. “Where you headed?” Caspian keeps his tone light, conversational; he’d hate to frighten or bully a girl needlessly. There’s still time before the wreckers arrive - with a little luck, she’s only passing through.
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