Totoka River 그 안에 숨겨진 비밀을 알게된 것 같아

Marbas followed the wolf without word or thought, content enough with her presence not to fuss overmuch about where they might be going.  She was a nice wolf, and he doubted he would be led into any traps by her - and should trouble find them on its own, she was a good enough prize to defend.

The river, hidden as it was by the steep, bumping banks on either side, had not yet been painted by the sun's strengthening rays. The water was still cool and silver, and was busily gurgling along despite the early hour of the day. Marbas prefered the steady push and pull of the ocean to the weak but insistent tug of rivers and streams, but water was still water, and he was thirsty, anyway, his throat burning from the salt of the sea.

He waded in without looking at the wolf, the water rising to his chest before he paused to lap up some of the crisp flow. When his thirst was quenched, he moved to the shallower waters and laid down, eyes half-lidded as they turned to his dark companion.

"I don't know what to call you," he said, unsure what sort of answer he might receive.

The meandering flow of snowmelt, cooler and sweeter than the glassy water of the delta, soothed the inky sheepdog cross’ affronted nose immensely; she dipped her muzzle below surface again and again, her tufted ears slicked back, as she coiled her haunches demurely and used one catlike paw to daintily wash her face. Sighing softly in a mixture of contentment and relief, she slaked her thirst as Marbas had and lay in the shallows some feet away from him, resting her chin on a mossy rock that jutted rather conveniently above surface. Yawning without lifting her head like a crocodile trying to keep cool, she pillowed her cheek on the moss and watched the male with unguarded laziness. Her cerulean eyes glinted turquoise as she gazed upon him; in this setting, the mocha tufts of fur that accentuated his masculine neck and shoulders seemed diluted, the color of driftwood at dusk — and the charcoal, ash, and ink that patterned his pelt were tinted in silver and blue. Only his eyes remained untouched by the environment that surrounded him, an immutable and burnished mahogany.

“I don’t know what to call you,” he said, and the familiar dilemma twisted painfully in Seelie’s muted heart. He could capture her, as the siren of Tara had captured her, with a name — and whether he was hoping for some guidance or merely mulling over his decision, the little Groenendael could make no verbal reply. Were they standing next to the sea lion shoals, she could attempt to play a pitiful game of charades — but they were not, and she felt weary and defeated at the thought of trying to pantomime her true name. A smile brushed her delicate features as she turned her gaze from Marbas’ face to the rock upon which she rested her head. She did not know what to call him either, and she tipped her head first to one side, then the other as stretched out a paw and lightly thrust it toward him, sending a tiny wave of water toward him. “You first,” the gesture might have said, or, “your choice.” Either statement would have been fitting, and she was helpless but to wait for his reply.

Marbas watched intently this time, vaguely aware that he'd been missing some over her cues, over the course of the morning. This time, though, he caught the meaning of her gesture - at least patially. Up to you, he interpreted. Well, there wasn't much he could do with that - he was not a creative creature. He was not her.

"Siren, then," he said, without much thought. It was he'd first thought her, after all. It could not get much simpler than that. Belatedly, he realized that he had not introduced himself. "You can call me Marbas."

Ostensibly, he was gazing pensively into the water. But he kept his eyes on her reflection, waiting almost nervously for her reaction to the new moniker.

“Siren, then.”

It took her breath away.

Across the inky ingénue’s delicate features danced a kaleidoscopic array of emotion, beginning with a joy whose fullness could not be contained in a simple smile. It put stardust in her oceanic eyes and sank into the marrow of her bones; she stretched her legs and arched her spine deliciously, flexing each toe as her feathered tail arched high above her back. Her limpid eyes glowed with the brightness of the bioluminescent plankton that sometimes danced along the crests of waves or lingered at the shoreline. She was happy — so happy! — that he had given her a name at all; but to have given her such a beautiful one…oh, her heart swelled and fluttered as shy wonderment crept unseen into her cheeks. Tipping her head back, she “howled” — a prolonged and undulating whisper scarcely louder than the ripples that fled at the touch of the tradewinds.

She fought the sorrow that lay in coiled readiness — the knowledge that she would never sing as the true sirens did — and set against its encroaching darkness the rushlight of trust he — Marbas — had placed in her. His name, she thought, ought to be an easy one to learn — and her virginal lips clumsily shaped the weight of its syllables. Hello, Marbas, she thought, looking up at the wolf with eyes that had gone slightly dewy with emotion. She found she could not stop the propulsion of her limbs as she skirted around the mossy rock that had been her pillow, and just barely checked herself before she invaded his personal space and rubbed against him like a cat, settling instead to lay parallel to him in the water without entangling her body or fur with his. The nearness of his company was enough, although she ventured to stretch out one catlike paw as she whined a toneless note of gratitude. Her tufted ears fanned attentively forward upon her skull as her tail whipped under the surface like a wild thing, proclaiming her bashful, elated acceptance of the name.

The degree of enthusiasm with which she greeted her new name was... well, gratifying. Odd. A little inappropriate, if he was being very honest with himself. Perhaps he'd bitten off more than he could chew with this one, but beggers could not be choosers, could they? He was alone in this strange world - far from his home and estranged from his blood. And Siren was a nice wolf - all the more useful to him if she was as pleased with his administration.

"I am glad you approve," he said stiffly, truly pleased but not quite comfortable with her emotional displays. Still, he did appreciate her clarity, and added the vocabulary to his growing Siren-Marbas dictionary. Dipping his head, he touched his nose to her paw before withdrawing, barely stopping himself from scooting a bit further away. Not only would it be a sign of weakness - but also somewhat rude, he was sure.

To reassure her of his intent to befriend her, he gave his tail a few pronounced wags.

I am sorry! This post is not very nice; I am feeling very sick. >< It is also a little bit rushed because I have work tomorrow.

The songless Siren marveled, her heart spilling over with fondness as Marbas dipped his regal head and touched his nose to her paw; he was and would perhaps always be a prickly creature, but she was learning to read the signals he gave her. In a sense, they were both learning another language — and even as the little sheepdog cross began to feel the true weight of weariness place a heavier sense of gravity on her body, she didn’t want the lesson to end. She feared that if they parted ways, she would never again find Marbas — for although he had captured her with a name and given her his in turn, a siren with no voice could lure no wayward sailors. There was no way for her to communicate this, but a low whine, touched with longing, spilled from her jaws in protest as her oceanic blue eyes began to drift closed. Her tail stirred as she roused herself with concerted effort; she dipped her muzzle below surface and lifted her forepaw again, bathing her face with splashes of snowmelt.

No worries. We can wrap this up soon, probably - and then maybe Marbas can come find her after he fights Maude and once you feel better

Oh, but she was a nervous creature! Clingy, too. Marbas gave a put-upon sigh - though it pleased him still that she'd been so receptive to his careful manipulations - and slipped out of the water to move up the bank. There, he settled himself once more, looking down at Siren with studied nonchalance.

"I tire. Perhaps a nap," he said succinctly, settling his head on his paws and lowering his lids until he could see only a slit of the world beyond them. It was true enough - he hadn't been sleeping well since leaving the safety of Warsaw, and he'd sleep much worse out here in the open. But Siren did seem wont to shut her eyes, and Marbas inferred that she would not like to do so while she feared he might leave her on her own. Smart of her, to rope him into guarding her while she slept.

Marbas found himself feeling vaguely annoyed, for a moment. The ploy for her favor had gone swimmingly, he thought, but what did one do once they gained the esteem of another? As nice as Siren seemed, she was not very useful.

But he still remembered the sweet, doe-eyed surprise in her eyes as she'd emerged from the water, sneezing salt out of her nose. Somehow, she seemed useful enough.

The atramentous Siren watched as Marbas settled down on the riverbank, the picture of regal insouciance, his head resting neatly on his paws as his eyes began to drift shut. She rose from the water with some reluctance, her slender body tangled in a heavy weariness, and padded meekly upon the bank to lie beside him. For a moment her seablue eyes remained transfixed upon his larger frame, watchful and protective in her own fashion — but after a time, the heaviness of fatigue grew too burdensome for her to carry, and the bioluminescent glow of her eyes snuffed out as slumber swept through her in a single prolonged sigh of contentment. Seelie’s delicate mouth, tipped at the corners in a fond smile, relaxed into the solemnity of sleep — just a nap, she insisted to herself, Amoxtli waits!

When long enough had passed, Marbas cautiously lifted his head, careful not to make a sound. Siren was asleep.

He did not plan to leave her - the male just thought to stretch his legs. But stretching turned to walking, and walking turned to wandering, and wandering turned to exploration, and exploration turned into a journey. By the time the sun set on that day, he was miles from his companion. Still, traveling farther and farther from the inky girl, Marbas entertained thoughts of going back for her. I won't be gone long, he thought. Just a day or so.

Guilt followed doggedly at his heels.

Poor Seelie. I'm so sorry! He'll come back soonmaybe