Blackwater Islands 2+2=5 (The Lukewarm)

Maybe @Akantha?

The sun had gone and the night was dark. All was still save for the rhythmic woosh of waves crashing in the shore break of the roughly hewn northern cliffs. A cold breeze blew in from the west, and the winds brought a bitter, angry chill. This place was unsteady. The tide was low, yet there was still a palpable sense of danger here. The boy stood along the cliffs edge and he could feel his heart thrum in his chest like a kettle drum. The wind caught him like a kite. He felt as if the ground beneath him would give way at any moment, and he would be cast away into the sea -- to never return again.

Whip swallowed thickly and he wondered if that would be for the best.

These dark moments, they came and went like the passing tides. It was a passenger he carried for as long as he could remember. What Whip thought most strange however, was that these moods swept over him for seemingly no reason at all. It had always been this way; long enough for Whip to feel like he should be used to it by now, but he never could. Fear danced in his eyes as he stared out at an angry, dark sea that threatened to swallow him whole. He could feel a growing tightness in his chest, as if he had been wrapped in a vice.

His limbs shook. It was happening again.

As dusk fell away to dark, and the Moon rose somewhere behind a thick cover of clouds, Akantha emerged from the Whelping Cove. She'd spent the day preparing the caverns for future use—clearing away debris, digging out hovels, and scavenging what little she could to make a comfortable nest that the expecting mother of the time could use. However, it lacked the luxury she remembered from Themiscrya; very few shells lined the threshold, and the surfaces were far too smooth to pile glittering stones upon. She wanted nothing but to provide the best for her coven, but her attempts felt pitiful indeed.

So under the cover of night she ascended the winding path and struck out towards the higher reaches of the northern cliffs in search of repose. Kalika always did well to reassure her that she was doing a fine job, but it wasn't honeyed words she desired to sooth her irrational hurts. But she wanted something, anything, to take her mind off her own troubles. It didn't take her sensitive nose long to discover a familiar scent upon the wind, and she changed course to investigate. 

The Matriarch discovered her favored Drudge lying still upon the cliffs and staring off into the inky black. As she drew near, her keen eyes focused enough to take in the strained planes of his face. She perked her ears and paused, wondering if, perhaps, she should leave him to his thoughts. But her instinctive urge to protect her domain, him included, pushed her to reveal herself. Akantha rumbled softly as she approached, though her expression was fixedly neutral and her body language only passively dominant.

Whip's body was there among the cliffs, staring out to the inky black abyss below. His mind however was elsewhere, drifting (or rather, flailing), in an eerily similar place. He could feel himself disassociating as the line between reality and Whip's dark thoughts began to blur together. It was a strange, terrifying sensation; crashing over him in great waves of existential dread. It was as if he could feel himself separate completely from the boy he was when he felt normal. Now, he was a different being. He was out of control. It was like a waking dream -- feeling as if none of this was real. As if he weren't real.

It was moments like this that call to the void felt strongest. The salty spray of the angry sea below buffeted Whip's blank, listless face. The sea was calling to him, bidding him to step forward. He felt an odd compulsion to answer Her call and tumble over cliff into the dark below, but his trembling limbs would not move. He was frozen to the spot.

Whip felt like crying, and while that wasn't entirely possible (with the whole sans tear-ducts thing), he did choke out a strangled sob. He had not yet noticed the Matriarch beside him, but he soon felt her presence. He looked to her with pleading eyes and his mouth opened to say something, anything, but no words came. There was only a dry, pittiful croak as he continued to sob.

The Matriarch expected a stammered greeting punctuated by a flustered flurry of movement as he quickly made to prostrate himself before her. But instead she bore witness to the single most heartbreaking sight she'd ever observed—it was as if his own mind was attempting to tear itself apart, and his heart was a needless victim of the careless act. Her heart lept into her throat, which clenched around it uncomfortably. Akantha was both transfixed and bewhildered. Whip was clearly in pain from something, though his scent harbored no blood, nor did he seem visibly injured. 

Akantha stole a quick, fearful glance behind her, before she quickly picked up her paws and moved to stand almost protectively over the boy. "Shh," She hummed while frantically pressing her nose into the soft places of his shoulders, spine, neck, and cheek. She sought to draw out the Whip she remembered; the shy, uncertain, but dedicated creature she'd come to respect over the past few weeks. To be caught out like this, the Matriarch treating a man like this, would mean certain expulsion in Themiscrya. But this wasn't Themiscrya. This was her sect. Her island. Her Nereides, and she refused to allow this brutal ritual to harm her men any further.

She lapped gently at his tears while she lay herself down around him, encircling the boy with her own large frame and drawing him close by draping a paw over his back. "You're alright, you're safe." she crooned to the fleshy curve of his ear in an attempt to calm him.

The matriarch draped herself around him like an all-enveloping blanket. Whip had not expected such tenderness from the likes of her, or any wolf of the Nereides for that matter. In fact, he wouldn't have expected this sort of comfort from his own biological mother -- whose own emotional distance had been more damaging to Whip as a child than he had once thought. It took a lot to bring Whip down from the manic place he was. His heart still hammered in his chest. He took shallow breaths at a still alarming rate. But, beneath all that, in his heart Whip felt loved, and that was something he hadn't felt for a very, very long time.

That, he found, was enough.

You're safe.

Shutting his eyes, Whip leaned into Akantha's flank. It was slow, but he could feel the fit begin to fade. The worst was over, the rest would pass with time as it always had before. "I'm sorry," he muttered, suddenly becoming more aware of his actions. "I'm so sorry." He had not wanted to break down like this, especially not in front of the matriarch. It had been so long since his last episode, he had thought it would no longer be an issue -- that it had somehow worked its way out of his system. It had not. Once again, Whip had been wrong.

Though it took some time, Whip soon began to regain control of his breathing and the fearful flicker of his eyes. She didn't say a word, and scarcely dared to move, when he leaned in close to glean what little comfort he could from the awkward, hulking mass of bone and flesh that was his Matriarch. But dismay crept into the uncertain baritenor of his voice, and Akantha sucked in her own breath before quickly assembling her wits to amend the break in his resolve before it happened again. "Hush," she crooned, only to lap gently at the soft curve of his ear. "don't apologize for what harm your demons cause you." she remarked, the words considerably thoughtful and wise for someone so... not. 

But she drew away after another moment, and looked him over just to be certain he was not actually wounded. Akantha remained as a barrier to the outside; a mountainous wall circling the smaller, scrappy boy, sharing in her warmth and what security she brought. "Does this happen often?" She asked a beat later while her hazel eyes fixated somewhere neutral—somewhere around his nose, or cheek.