[AW] like gathered embers

[Seraphina]

Salt and desaturated greengray foam licked amicably at the silver mare’s chest as she slipped out into the waves, hooves digging into the seafloor to keep her balance as the waves rolled in and out of the dirty shore – glittering with fragments of seashell and distant, from her position at the edge of a sandbank. The screech of gulls was barely audible over the bellow of wind as they dove in and out of the horizon, dark silhouettes cast against the midday sun and periwinkle-blue sky, still coated in a fine layer of nebulous white even in the wake of a storm that had ravaged the coast the previous night, judging by the state of the driftwood and beached jellyfish strewn out along the shoreline. That was, however, before the tide had rolled in. When it trickled back out in a few hours, she imagined that no signs of the storm would remain at all. The ocean had a way of wiping away all but the sturdiest ridges and crags that lined it, and even those eventually succumbed to the stubborn pull of time. (She did not visit the coast often, but, whenever she stared out at the ocean waves, she could understand why travelers would occasionally call the Mors “a sea of sand.” Fluttering, changing, fickle – and unyielding. Seraphina knew that she couldn’t drown in the dunes, but sometimes she felt like she could.)

She could not see the ground through the murk as it settled and bobbed in equal measures around her legs, though she thought that she could occasionally catch a glimpse of silver scales, flickering and flashing like pale fire in the sunlight. There were far larger beasts in the Terminus, and deadlier ones, but they rarely ventured so close to shore; these were simply minnows, their absentminded curiosity sending them darting between her legs or nibbling at her heels, terribly unafraid of the far larger creature – or what they could see of her, with their strange little bubbles of eyes. Seraphina thought that they were quite strange for it, and quite bold. She would have been a bit impressed, had she not seen them snatched up by seabirds in droves, though their feathered assailants had fled as she had swum to the bank, and they dared not return while her presence remained. Giving a small shake of her legs to allow her small, scaled companions to scatter before she dragged her comparably behemoth form into motion again, she clambered out of her hole in the sand, and, pushing off with her hindquarters, returned to swimming – or, rather, floating. As soon as her hooves left the sand, she allowed her body to drift, though her cautious gaze flitted between the horizon and the bank. After her encounter in the Maze, she had been forcing herself to learn to swim, and, if she were to ever find the nerve to dive beneath the surface, she knew that she had to become comfortable with water, the way it ebbed and flowed. However, she was also well aware of the temper of the Terminus, and she did not want to chance allowing the tide to drag her out to the open ocean.

(When she closed her eyes, there was still black water in her mouth – in her eyes, on her tongue, swallowing her, choking her, dragging her deeper and deeper and deeper.) So she kept them open and watched the gulls again, their chatter a cold comfort from the murky unfamiliarity (and her own prickling sense of uncertainty) of the sea.

wow, look, the absolute /last/ thing I needed to be doing

anyways, AW! <3

[Morozko]

morozko and all our footprints in the snow. He has not forgotten his fascination with the sea. There had only been a few brief moments of peace, staring out over the cliffside as the waves leapt and crashed below before the meeting with Reichenbach turned chaotic with bodies, but they’d lingered in the stallion’s mind. As he grew more comfortable in his new location (he couldn’t quite bring himself to call it home) he’d begun ranging farther afield, but had yet to return to the water, near as it was to Delumine. Today, that would change. Morozko chooses a different route to the coast, this time, foregoing the rugged cliffs for the more gentle dunes of the beach. Parts of the Dusk Court always carried the sharp-strange scent of salt and that only strengthened as he neared, the scent joined by the gulls’ constant clamor and the endless sigh of the waves on the sand. It’s a humiliating thing, to stand on the shore with the foam washing over his hooves and know that he has never learned to swim. Even if it hadn’t been necessary in the inland (and constantly frozen) stretch of Heimsterra, it feels like a personal shortcoming. For the moment he only stands where the sea and land meet, the midday sunlight warm on his back and each wave like a breath cold on his fetlocks. It is hard for the unicorn to picture anyone conquering such a beast as this one, as lovely and formidable as an avalanche-prone slope. Where winter was all potential, still and silent and glittering, this was enchantingly different - rush and noise, tempting and foreboding. Chaos to the control he strove for. Which is why he is so surprised to see the figure in the waves. She’s difficult to pick out, at first - mane and tale as pale as sea-foam, body the grey of the water when a cloud passes overhead. And she is still, not struggling or thrashing. It is her apparent ease, when Morozko’s silver gaze finally finds her, that keeps him from calling to her. From his vantage point, she looks utterly at ease; there is only the turn of her head, the flash of her eyes as she allows herself to drift. He is not entirely surprised to find himself a little jealous - he, who could pick his way through a blizzard with proficiency, but hesitated to walk into the water up to his knees. Despite his growing curiosity, the pale stallion says nothing, only watching from the shore as the wind tugs at his tail and brings him the scents of salt and brine and stranger things, and each retreating wave drags at the sand beneath his feet as if entreating him to join her. @Seraphina picked this one instead! your writing is gorgeous. <3