July 17, 2016, 12:00 AM
Backdated to a few hours after this thread.
It was some hours later when Szymon roused himself, a low groan murmuring weakly from his lips as he shook out his fur and tried to dispel the groggy feeling that almost always followed one of these episodes. Untangling his limbs and dragging them beneath his gaunt frame with considerable effort, he stretched gingerly and bent his head again to the lake — with far more composure this time around. When he felt steady enough to walk, he paced deliberately around the pool to where the mysterious female had stood — and he breathed deeply, his nose grazing the muddy earth where her prints yet remained. What he smelled was mostly churned earth and clear water, but there lingered an indefinable something that bade the hackles along his spine and shoulders to kindle in a ginger and cinnamon flicker. If he trusted his judgment, despite the mud in his nose and her efforts to disguise herself, Ksenia had been here and knew, perhaps, that he was here.
But do you trust yourself, little Szymon?
Oh, shut up.
The water he had drunk threatened to come up again, acid rising in his throat at the thought of not finding Skellige and telling him of his possible discovery, and he knew he had tarried too long. Despite the fumbling unsteadiness that turned his weary legs to jelly, he moved in the direction of the Sea, now knowing that he was at least getting closer to one thing he loved. If he could get to the Sea, he would be all right — he would not be dependent on these barren lands and their vacant hollows. For although he was frail and largely disappointing to his kin, Szymon was a Cairn, blessed by the Sea and guided by the Turtle. He was made to survive; to withdraw and take his beatings, and come out again the next hour to do it all again.
But do you trust yourself, little Szymon?
Oh, shut up.
The water he had drunk threatened to come up again, acid rising in his throat at the thought of not finding Skellige and telling him of his possible discovery, and he knew he had tarried too long. Despite the fumbling unsteadiness that turned his weary legs to jelly, he moved in the direction of the Sea, now knowing that he was at least getting closer to one thing he loved. If he could get to the Sea, he would be all right — he would not be dependent on these barren lands and their vacant hollows. For although he was frail and largely disappointing to his kin, Szymon was a Cairn, blessed by the Sea and guided by the Turtle. He was made to survive; to withdraw and take his beatings, and come out again the next hour to do it all again.