morningside had given his life purpose. every day, he woke with a plan of action. patrol the borders, visit the pups, check in with dawn and pema. . . he went to bed each night having accomplished things, even if those things were small. the days blended together, but that was a good thing, then.

now, the days blended together, but for a different reason altogether. each day, govinda woke with nothing. these were not his borders, there were no pups, and dawn and pema were names from a life he would never return to. he went to bed each night having accomplished nothing--and nothing was as small as you could go. the days blended together; it was a kind of suspended torture, a dull pain.

at least there was @Izel. the woman had tended to his wounds, but it was quickly clear that she was not as open or friendly as he was (or had been, at least). he wandered the plains at a slow limp, seeking her out. the wounds had healed, but only barely, and every step was taken gingerly, lest they break open once more. he wouldn't survive, were he to bleed out again--this time, alone.

it was the space between lives, and it was as empty and yawning as anything govinda had ever experienced.

She does not make herself difficult to find.  The siren queen desires to return to the bay that housed her for the first weeks after she washed ashore to pay her respects to the ocean and to the landmark itself but her ward keeps her busy.  He has sustained wounds he should not have survived; it is Izel's deft hand that keeps him afloat.

She is not happy to see him moving.  The Plateau is flat and she can survey his approach from a distance.  Wind ruffles the salt-crusted spikes of hair along her nape, and she regards him with a flat, disappointed stare.  Stiff-legged she stalks towards him, and when she comes close she snaps her teeth in the air between them.  Rest, she demands, reclining onto her haunches and making it clear she leaves no room for discussion.

there she was--and scolding, too. he gave her a weak smile, settling back on his haunches nonetheless. "restless," he countered gently, sighing through his nostrils. he looked out to the sea, so close yet so far. he could taste the salt on his tongue, but were he to submerge himself. . .

"how are you?" govinda asked, not knowing what else to say. he knew little about her, after all. she was merely the stern, strong woman that had pulled him from the abyss. you know--no big deal. but there had to be a story behind it all, right?

there had to be a reason why they were here together, now.

Despite everything she can safely assume this man has been through, his nature is still so jovial and good-natured.  She both respects this (for it means that he is resilient) and is irritated by this.

The wolves of Shearwater knew to leave well enough alone.  He did not.  I have been marking the borders, she says, since we will be here for some time.  Her gaze drifts unabashedly to the most severe wounds upon his neck, and she moves close to smell for infection.

How are you?

her answer brought his eyes back to her, staring as if she had three heads. it was an alien concept, to mark borders that were not his. when he'd been a wanderer, he had slept anywhere that wasn't claimed, but hadn't claimed anywhere for his own. he was a tramp, awara; what right had he to borders? morningside had been his only steady home, and even then, those borders had seemed rented, not owned.

deciding not to press the issue, he shrugged at her query, remaining silent for another beat. "tired," he finally responded. after a moment, he added, reluctantly, "empty." once upon a time, he would have expounded upon it. but he truly was void of everything but basic pleasantries; he felt no need to explain, and he sensed that this woman preferred his silence, anyway.

the sea had not killed his curiosity, however. "where are you from?" he asked, tilting his head. "originally, i mean."

She had supposed the questions would come eventually.  The who are you, and the where are you from, and the tell me about yourself.  She has no innate desire to show herself to him, but neither does she have the desire to conceal it, either.  Shearwater, she supplies, Far from here.

She suspects that this will not sate him, but she can pray anyway.

it was concise, but something, at least. shearwater. it sounded sharp, harsh; he imagined rocky cliffs and stormy seas, and saw that atmosphere in her eyes, as well. he wanted more--needed more, really--but chose to leave it at that, nodding instead. an uneasy quiet fell between them for another few moments, the hush of waves in the near distance the only sound. he breathed deep and soft, feeling his ribs ache under the strain. finally, he smiled, slowly blinking.

"i've traveled a lot, and never heard of it," govinda remarked, thinking the response innocuous enough and not catching onto the fact that it could offend the regal woman. "shearwater." he became silent once more, pursing his lips, sealing in the name.

interesting. he would have rather stayed on the topic of shearwater, but instead she decided to ask him questions. govinda supposed it was only fair, since he had given her the same attention. still. . .it was difficult. he didn't want to go into who he was, and he had no earthly idea of who he wanted to be. god, how could he possibly answer?

"i'm from the south," govinda finally said, casting his muzzle down the coast. "i want. . .i want to be happy. at peace. beyond that. . .i don't know." he didn't know; he wasn't being cagey on purpose. honesty had always been his strong suit--and also his downfall. she had saved his life. his honesty was always owed her; she would always have it, no matter what.

"tell me more about shearwater," he continued, knowing that she probably didn't want to go down that road again--and not caring much. just as long as he didn't have to talk about himself anymore.

polar opposite from morningside, then. others had said it--it had been so warm, so kind. maybe that was a good thing, but then, why had he left? was too much of a good thing a bad thing? in some twisted fashion, the harshness of shearwater somehow felt. . .appealing. it was a change of tone, at least.

"ah, so you were leader there," govinda remarked, continuing to piece together the fragmented details of izel's old home. "what was your title? how--how many wolves did you have?" anything to distract her from prying into his own life. slightly hypocritical of him, but he'd bear the backlash when it came.

to tell her more would be to delve into aditya. . .and he would not do that. not now. perhaps not ever.