he didn't know whether seconds or years had passed from when he had first closed his eyes to now, lifting his head off the wet sand. he groaned and stretched, and instantly regretted it; the wounds, which had undergone some healing while he had slept, reopened, and the salt stung like hell. with a yelp, he fell still again, trying not to move. everything was agony.

was this what resurrection felt like?

he lay there for hours before slowly beginning to drag himself inland, each inch he traveled a new, unique kind of pain. he didn't know one could hurt this much. god help him if a bear wandered this way--no, at this point, he'd welcome that, especially if he died quickly. anything was better than this. this was hell, and he cursed hari with every breath for resigning him to this fate.

but he had made his peace with his god by the time he reached the grass, and when he entered the small glade, the pain was mostly gone--either he was used to it, now, or he was so exhausted that it didn't matter anymore. he collapsed beneath a tree, gasping, shuddering from the effort. his eyes were crusted half-shut from salt, his pelt matted and torn. a trail of slowly oozing blood marked his path, and he bled now, wondering if hari had been wrong, if he was really meant to bleed out here--

govinda.

the name came to him suddenly, and he realized that in his dream--vision?--reality?--that hari had called him so. aditya had died, there beneath the surface of the ocean, and from the sea, govinda had been born. it would take some getting used to, he knew. but aditya had done terrible things, and govinda was keen to leave him behind. whatever it took.

the man fell into a restless kind of half-slumber, shivering, moaning garbled names. everything was pain, and he didn't know how to ease it.

Ressurection had been a recurring theme in Izel's life.  First it had been the journey from the islands to the cliffs.  The sea gives, and the sea washes away.  Then it had been the cliffs to the wilds.  Mother ocean gives, and she washes away.  Now it was from the bay which had shielded her and provided for her to whatever the future may hold.

She felt age beyond her years as she pulled herself from the ocean, unsure of just how far she was destined to go but unwilling to spurn her gods.  Her bones hurt.  Her heart throbbed.  The wind carried unintelligible snippets of the vagrant man's pain in her direction, and she altered her course.  She smelled the man's blood before she saw him, and when she saw him she wanted to weep for him.

The sea gives, and the sea washes away.

The crone stretched her body long and settled next to him on the sand and waited for him to wake.

he had wondered when he'd sank beneath the surface if he was doomed to repeat this life, over and over again. when he awoke to see dark, sleek fur beside him, he feared that doom had been realized. god, not again, he thought, reddened eyes peering mournfully at her. don't let me hurt her again.

but no. . .no, this woman was different. brown, not black. and built along the same lines, but not identical. govinda blinked several times, gaze narrowed as the pain rolled through his body all over again. he needed a bath. he needed to wash the salt from the wounds, and a cool, dry place to sleep.

"who're you," the man slurred, voice barely even a whisper, cracked and frail as it was. every syllable forced through his ragged throat was agony; he might not be as verbose as he once was for a long time. perhaps forever.

She did not wait long.  His mournful slitted eyes scaled over her form, and his brows worried a wrinkle between them.  There was a soupçon of recognition there unique to the stranger that seemed to sting until it faded.

He did not make to move.  Instead he queried her, "Who're you?  His tired voice was devoid of emotion.  He did not fear this stranger he awoke next to.  How curious.  Izel, she parried flatly, murkwater stare fixed upon his wounds.

her eyes were different. not--not coelacanth's cerulean, sky-blue. no, these were the color of the depths of the sea, what had floated around himself and hari at the moment of his reckoning. if coelacanth had once been his savior, something heavenly, ethereal, this woman tethered him further to reality. a short name, and a flat voice, not the sing-song, flowing moniker of the aralez. so different.

and that was good.

"izel," govinda repeated, staring blankly at her for a long, silent beat. normally, he would have bowed his head, wagged his tail, done something--something!--to acknowledge her, but he was motionless due to pain. everything hurt, and nothing worked. he cleared his throat, grimacing at the gob of phlegm that rose up.

"do. . .you live here?" he asked, gaze wandering slowly, lazily around the immediate area.

Her name means nothing here.  Once, the breath of Izel would've sent men to cower and bow.  It is at best mildly infuriating.  Perhaps she would've allowed her displeasure to leak over her countenance... but the phlegm that he spits on the land causes her to soften.  Barely.

She, too, had been consumed by the sea and spat out by it, and it had been soon enough she still had empathy for his plight.  

No.  Nowhere, she says, also making to take in the area around them.  Did you, mahuiztictlacatl?

"ma. . ." he paused, trying to taste the unfamiliar world. the unfamiliar long word. he was not unacquainted with such long words, nor with different tongues, but this was a language he didn't know. sounded good, though. he let out a little gasp of a chuckle, a puff of air before wincing (even that slight motion hurt him) and shot her a faint, bemused smile.

"no," govinda responded, blinking softly. "no, i've never been here. i. . .came from the sea. as you can. . .probably tell," he added in his rasping voice, glancing down at his still-drying pelt. he looked at her again, a question in his eyes. "what did you call me?" no accusation there, simply curiosity. he had given enough nicknames in his own tongue, after all.

He had enough energy to laugh, but not enough to show her recognition or respect.  She had to remember that now she was nobody but an old crone; instead of displeasure, she allows a thin smile to grace her angled face.  

She does not recognize his accent.  It is nothing like hers, but they are not as different as she had initially assumed.  Mahuiztictlacatl, she repeats slowly, resting her breath on each syllable.  Great man.

Her murkwater stare moves to the coast, which is off in the distance, out of view.  Me too.

his eyes were mournfully humorous as he stared at her, absorbing the meaning. great man. far from it. "you flatter me," govinda responded, the laughter gone from his voice. "i have. . .done terrible things. and have paid for it." he coughed again, wheezing a bit. "govinda," he said, noting that it was the first time he'd said it aloud. it felt alien on his tongue. . .but also refreshing. a new beginning.

"the sea is beautiful--but cruel," the (not-so great) man murmured, following her gaze toward the waves. he glanced at her, taking in her gaze again--that deep, dark blue of the ocean. peaceful death. "you must be a woman of the sea, to have survived it."

It is her turn to be filled with recognition.  She does not know him, but they are the same.  I have done terrible things, and have paid for it.  They shared the same story.  They had been consumed by the ocean for their sins, washed and atoned, and cast back out towards the infinite wilds.

Better that than the infinite depths of the ocean.  I am.  She pauses, expands.  Since birth.  On tall legs she moves to stand, walking with long strides back towards the waves.  I can heal those wounds.

quite suddenly, he saw her in a new light. "me too," he whispered, but didn't know whether she heard him as she rose to her paws, beginning to stride away. "that. . .would be nice," he admitted, wishing he could limp along after her. alas, he didn't even have the strength to lift his head, at this point. the struggle from the edge of the water to get to here had been all too much.

instead, he watched her, eyes half-shut. she was a dark form against a clear, gray sky, sharp and leggy. no wonder he had mistaken her for coelacanth, at first. they were a lot alike, if one stared from afar. up close, it was a much different story, and he was glad for it.

to have washed up on wheeling gull isle again. . .he would have thrown himself back in the sea to drown, and hari's will be damned.

Lo cuidaré, she says without explanation before departing on long legs to douse herself in the seawater.  When she emerged again, it was with a mouthful of seaweed.  She shook her pelt out and moved to the stranger's side, dousing the dry land.

She did not ask before she intruded his space, licking the wounds that covered his face and neck before working down his body, eyes sharp and dangerous lest he become irritated with her probing.

oh, that was pretty. it sounded vaguely familiar too, unlike the other word she'd said. mahui. . .? something or another. govinda was still pondering what it could have meant when she returned, beginning to work on him. she might have braced herself for irritation, but he began to relax completely under her ministrations, eyelids drooping.

the salt being cleared away helped a lot, even if her tongue hurt somewhat--it was better than the burning that had consumed him for hours and hours. "thank you," govinda whispered, casting her a weak smile. she didn't need to be kind to him; she was going out of her way to do so. but then, they were kin, right? both born from the sea--both survivors of it as well.