the coconut grove had become, more or less, his new home. he still wandered, but the need for a home base outweighed his scouting tendencies. it was good to have somewhere consistent to sleep, really. it added some normalcy to a life that had turned upside down quite quickly, and he was grateful for it.

during the day, though, he still explored. the exploring would never cease. plus, there wasn't much game within the grove, so wandering out was necessary to keep oneself fed. today's small voyage took him to the pools at low tide, where perhaps he could find a snack.

nothing was urgent. govinda meandered, sticking his snout here and there (and all the while, watching diligently for crabs--getting pinched on the nose wouldn't do). should anyone happen upon him here, they'd find him muzzle-deep in brackish water, searching for clams.

perhaps there had been a brief moment, before the fall of tragedy, where she saw providence. 

it was fleeting and stolen as soon as she dared blink; the culminations of her own arrogance her undoing. following her poor priest's disappearance the woman-once-named had tried to piece together a life for herself and the golden boy -- 

where is he now?

-- but it was not to be. she had tried too hard to hold on to the fragments of her past, a name that she was foolish enough to try to keep. she has learned her lesson, fled the wilds and abandoned the last vestiges of her history. hamartia seems much more well suited to someone cold and bitter, the maker of their own undoing.

yet the call of the wilds is too alluring for her to abandon completely, perhaps hoping for some fleeting glance of what-once-could-have-been. a different type of self-punishment, maybe. either way hamartia finds herself aimless along the teekon's shores, her mind swirling between dream and memory, past and present, not finding firm hold on either. she could continue like this forever, and she might have, if not for the sight of a man with his nose in one of the small pools she meanders around. she pauses her delicate steps, head tilting slightly as an amused smile pulls at her mouth. "hungry?" she asks, voice unfurling like smoke; whatever tragedy she wears is kept close to her breast, private from the world.

something about his reaction amuses her, winning a mischevious smile. it's easier than she thought to be a person again, now that she has abandoned any former sense of self. oblivious to his contemplations, and all for the better, fool boy, she murmurs, "no need for apologies," her sleepy eyes crinkled at the corners. 

lazily she glides closer, leaning over to peer into the shallow depths of the pool. she's never tasted whatever hardshelled creatures the man was hunting; she's curious. "what are they called?" hamartia asks, tilting her head briefly toward him, not minding her proximity to him (should he have remained static while she drew closer) in the slightest.

oysters. she's heard the word before, and now she has an image to connect to them. interesting creatures. it is hard to believe they are edible, though she will reserve her judgment on their quality for now.

"they're little to sustain on," she agrees, obscruing whether or not she is also, to borrow his term, a 'sea wolf'. hamartia is not, at any rate, even if poet may have been. (and was poet even? does it matter now?) perhaps she is simply noting her observations and not commiserating at all. perhaps it is irrelevant either way. less irrelevant, "govinda," the woman repeats, studying the way the light in his eyes seems to momentarily die. 

"i am hamartia," she returns, unaware of the subtle irony in the two of them sharing their new-false names. neither of them need know the truth. "i .. make no home," hamartia decides, unwilling to admit she has been here before, at least not yet. traveler too is not quite right; she is not a cosmopolitan, she is without. "and yourself?"

she does not intuit the strange sound as another tongue. to her unfamiliar ears it sounds like a breathy noise of agreement, not worth dwelling on as he explains his position, similarly precarious to her. the woman hmms, her gaze briefly flickering to their surrounds, as if to guess what direction coconut grove lies. the coast is largely unfamiliar to her, having spent most of her time in the teekons buried inland.

(without permission the image of her old shrine flickers into her mind, buried deep in a forest far away. is it still there? has it been trampled by secular paws, unaware of its fragile meaning?)

govinda has returned to the pool when she looks back, seemingly burdened by his confession. "i've no family either," hamartia confides, unsure if her urge is to commiserate, to try and pull him back to that tentative smile, or if it is just an honest ommission. there is something about govinda she ... relates to, perhaps. after a pause hamartia extends her snout forward, the elegant line of her neck arched down to join in nosing for the shelled creatures. at length she feels something blunt against her nose and delicately grasps it, pulling a small oyster from the water. 

she places it at his feet and grins. "now what?"

as he explains she listens intently, following the subtle movements of his teeth at the shell's lip. such labor for such a small sustenance, she thinks, but does not say aloud, patient in her observations of his work. when at last it is open he offers it to her; it is unshareable despite their conjoined efforts at retrieving it. "i'm not sure," she admits, her tongue running against her lips automatically. 

she leans forward anyway, bending as she does so she might delicately hover over the shell. curiously hamartia runs her tongue against the meat. it is surprisingly flavorful, salty but crisp, herbal almost. the meat itself has a strange bounce to it, not unpleasant, though she isn't sure how to pull it free without taking the surely inedible shell with it. her gaze briefly flickers to govinda for potential insight as she rearranges herself, her paw cradled against the shell to try and pin it to the ground as she grasps at the meat with her teeth. surprisingly it gives easily, her mouth momentarily filled by a burst of salt, like eating ocean given solid form.

"it's better than i expected," she says, looking up at him as she licks her lips. "though perhaps a better treat than meal." smiling, hamartia rises from her crouch, and cuts to the point: "will you be staying on the coast? in your coconut grove?"

a good treat, indeed. she watches him from under heavy lids, contemplative. when will i ever learn, she thinks, following lazily the drift of his gaze. his returned question is fair, earned, and something in it disturbs a weight she has been holding on to, though whether or better or worse remains to be seen. her eyes drop, tracking away from the lines of the trees and what they might hold, away from him. she lets her eyes close and holds for a moment. ghosts flicker against her eyelids. men and their plans. 

when she opens her eyes she hums, looking at govinda directly once again. "on my first visit to these lands, a man offered me shelter as his kept. after he left, i went in search of a different man, a priest. i suspect he had higher hopes for me than i myself," she muses, her tone turning slightly, apologetically, self-deprecating, "though eventually he too went away. i tried to follow, much too little, too late."

she shifts, drawing her shoulders up in an elegant shrug. "settling is not one of my strongest suits, i'm afraid. yet here i find myself again." in the teekons, perhaps, or before another man with half-formed plans for settling. "i suppose there is little harm in it, though. i've never seen the south, nor the shore," hamartia adds, a smile curving her mouth, wickedly if you squint. whether or not he figures out her self-invitation, well: she'll see the groves herself one way or another.

he does not try to make her commit, but neither did phocion. and truthfully, neither had her first ill-fated man. wardruna had not asked anything of her. he'd only offered. hamartia holds little against any of them; though why make the offer if you shan't follow through? 

now here is govinda... not offering, precisely. dancing around the idea as she is. in a way, that reassures her, though she does not trust their avoidant movements to last forever. eventually there will be commitment, for that is the way of wolves. under his mournful gaze hamartia sighs, a soft sound of release, and inclines her silver capped head. "i suppose i will too," she consents. the words seem to take something from her, for she pulls back, suddenly all too aware of their proximity, her tail curling shyly around her hock. her gaze she keeps cool and aloof. "until our paths cross again," hamartia murmurs, letting the words hang in the space she previously occupied, a silver fish darting gracefully toward the groves.