Seaside Moors he listens to wind secrets

hale tundrian; a lost sailor trying so very hard not to succumb to the crooning sirensong beneath the waves. the ropes gyving him to the mast fraying, chord by chord as he internally struggles. effortless it would be to give into his mercurial nature; to allow himself to take what he wants. to secure uncertain future and steer the drifting man’o’war of his wartorn heart to harbor —

rife with seasqualls, no doubt, but nothing he cannot weather.

he has sailed upon worst seas.

masculine tenor breaks thru the roiling crash of thoughts like seashore waves; commanding the hale tundrian’s attention. the nomad offers it, gelid gaze zeroing in upon the other male. hello, echoes back, drifting into the tangy seaair. learning the lay of the moors. tundrian supplies.