Stavanger Bay i can see you're lost like me

@Andr (@Fleurette for visibility) also, some PP, let me know if i need to edit anything.
set for 03/04/2024 | 9:13 PM | 36° F |

the night had always sung to iaghe, a remnant from her past life.

once, her people had gathered beneath sacred starfall to worship. 

but now, it was a vigil she kept alone.

it was with great care that she left the others within the warmth of the cave, slipping away from the place where their warmth had inched towards tangling into one.

it was a tango that might've been amusing to outsiders, perhaps even to the winterborne in time. some awkwardness or polite keeping of boundaries that kept the trio from crossing lines laid in the sand. 

what did it mean that she'd woken in the dead of the first night to find herself tangled up with andr -- for all of them? 

what did it mean to wake and find her limb stretched protectively over fleur? as if she could save the bubbly girl from what she herself had gone through.

who was whose? 

they all seemed to be treading that line, feeling out such a question. 

iaghe had always gone to the sea when all else failed.

she picked her way through the still night, weaving between shadows, her footprints leaving an easy trail in the snow. 

if that were not enough, she hunted for small things to lay a trail of breadcrumbs. 

bits of stone and stick, fallen feathers, pinecones, and when she reached the shore; seashells, the dry claw of a crab, a verdant piece of sea glass. 

i'm right here. i've not left you again.

she knew her wanderings had the capability to inspire such fear -- especially in andr.

he had reason to fear she would vanish.

flighty, diseased. 

the trail was as much for herself. in case she lost herself to the void again.

tonight, the roar was a dim hum in her mind.

she let her paws lead her to the edge, allowed the cold water to lap at her ankles. until it needled into her skin numbly, scars frigid and stiff as the mist dampened her starry pelt. 

the wildling ignored the cold, staring out to sea.

words came to her.

spirit-speaker. fëa-wë.

the misty lyrics of a hymn rose in her mind, more tune than anything.

and iaghe remembered.